Out of Time
by Neuronerd
Summary: It is a strange thing indeed to wake up nearly 250 years later. Spock/OC
1. Chapter 1 20 Questions

**A/N: This is my first foray into the world of Trek. I know that hardcore fans can be absolutely rabid, but I researched as much as I could so go easy folks…lol. I appreciate reviews very much. Cheers!**

**Chapter 1- 20 Questions**

I sighed again as I sat on the side of the bed. It was becoming a habit, but it seemed the only natural response to circumstances I couldn't hope to explain. My head hurt and I was persistently disoriented and confused, but this was all too intriguing not to pay attention to.

_Either this is one wild dream or I have somehow suffered a serious head injury._

It couldn't have been a dream. Everything was far too vivid and the pain too real. I knew that there were two things you were not supposed to feel while in a dream state: pain and temperature. I was disturbingly aware of both.

I looked up when I noted the young man who had been watching me snap to rigid attention and salute. Two other men were standing in the doorway and staring at me intently. They had on similar uniforms to the guard, but slightly more decorative; indicating they were somehow more important. The man in black wore an easy smile and seemed genuinely pleased to see me while there was something very disconcerting about the taller man in blue. I unabashedly stared at him, taking in every aspect of his being.

I furrowed my eyebrows when I noted that while he had a humanoid form, he was somehow different. I observed the way he stood ramrod straight, the stoic poker face that revealed nothing, the slightly translucent complexion of his skin, the odd angles of the eyebrows, and I jumped slightly when I noted his ears were pointed at the top. I thought quickly, but could think of no medical condition that caused that particular malformation.

What was most disturbing was that he obviously knew I was gawking at him, but the expression on his face remained carved in stone as though he didn't care in the least. In fact, I think he only blinked twice the whole time. That was decisively an abnormal reaction, most people would look away, or at least blush slightly. I had only seen that reaction from people who were actively psychotic and I made a mental note to watch out for this one.

The man in black looked from me to his companion and gave a knowing smile before approaching with his hand extended. "I am James Kirk, Captain of this ship."

I slowly took his hand and shook it firmly. So I was on a ship? This caused some anxiety for me because I wasn't a fan of floating on vast bodies of water. I wouldn't say it was a phobia, but more a sense of impending doom should the ship sink and you were left alone with sharks and no form of shelter for miles. It was simply a matter of waiting to see which came first: drowning or being eaten.

"This," he continued with a sweeping gesture to the immobile man in blue, "is the First Officer, Commander Spock."

I gave a curt nod and he simply returned the gesture with no change of expression or posture. He was deeply disturbing, not an easy task for someone who spends most of their time with the chronically mentally ill. I spent 8 hours a day in the bizarre world of hallucinations and disjointed thoughts of others. Just when you think you have seen or heard it all….

Then I was overcome with a sense of enlightenment. I had probably fallen asleep at my desk in the hospital. I had been working a lot of hours lately and I was exhausted and my brain was processing the strange stories I had heard from patients. Yes, that was all this was. Somewhat calmer, I sat up straight and was determined to simply enjoy the ride until I woke up.

"I am glad to see that you are awake." Captain Kirk went on with the friendly smile. "Dr. McCoy tells us that you seem remarkably intact, considering."

I glanced toward Mr. Spock who was now speaking with another person who seemed completely absorbed in some kind of hand held device. He waved dismissively at us without breaking his concentration. I wasn't sure why, but I immediately felt defensive around him. I had no evidence, but for some reason he seemed like a difficult person. I probably shouldn't feel that way towards him since he apparently took me as a patient, but I had spent too long working in hospitals to know too many doctors with God complexes and extremely poor bedside manners. They really were nothing more than flesh mechanics and something about this guy smacked of familiarity.

I looked back at the Captain quizzically. "Considering?" I asked.

He chuckled and replied, "You must have no memory of what happened, which may not be a bad thing for you." He folded his arms and leaned against the bed next to me. He was a bit too close for my comfort, so I scooted away slightly but he pretended not to notice. "Too bad for us though, we were hoping you would have some answers."

"Answers to what?" I asked becoming evermore confused.

He smiled amused and launched himself away from the bed and began to slowly pace in front of me. "Like how you managed to survive a very primitive cryogenic process that should have turned your damaged cells into mush when the process was reversed?" He paused to raise his eyebrows and went on. "And how you came to be on board a Romulan vessel?" Again a pause to gauge any recognition on my part, "Or why they placed you in stasis and jettisoned you into space when they were attacked by the Klingons instead of leaving you on board to perish? That would indicate you are somehow very special to them, they don't even do that for their own people."

I sat wide eyed on the edge of the bed. My mind was being drawn and quartered by so many contradictions and mysteries. I felt a mix of confusion and terror as I stammered, "Space? You are telling me I am on a spaceship?! I do not have a clue what a Romulan or a Klinton is."

"Klingon." He coolly corrected stopping in front of me. He seemed more disappointed than irritated.

"Whatever," I said with a weary sigh. "I do not know what those things are and I have never been frozen. No one survives that, the technology is too imperfect to be reliable."

"In your time, perhaps." Commander Spock said in a steady voice. His tone was too serious to be mocking and that made it all the more eerie.


	2. Chapter 2 The Descent of Man

**Chapter 2- The Descent of Man**

I fought the swell of panic rising in my chest by taking a deep breath and reminding myself that it was all just a dream. No matter what they say, it isn't real. I was never skilled at lucid dreaming, but I found comfort in the fact that at least I was aware that I was in an altered state of reality where nothing makes sense. It was the nature of the brain to hobble the pieces together into some coherent story because there was nothing the brain hated more than nonsense.

_What you are experiencing is the random firing of neurons. That is all it is. _

Commander Spock took a few slow and purposeful steps toward me and asked in a thoughtful voice, "What is the last thing you remember?"

I looked at the floor while I thought about it. It was hazy and uncertain, but I answered, "Being at work. I was doing paperwork at my desk."

"And what was your work?" he continued.

"I am a psychologist." I replied simply.

He stood quietly and seemed to think deeply about that before turning to the Captain who appeared lost. "A person who had obtained a higher level of education to analyze and address disturbances in mood or thought. What we now call a counselor." Commander Spock informed.

"Thank you, Mr. Britannica." I muttered.

He turned back to me and observed, "A series of volumes containing short articles on various topics meant to be informative. I accept your compliment." His voice was as flat as if he were discussing the weather. I entertained the fact that it may have actually been sarcasm on his part, but he was seriously creeping me out. "That would explain your manner of dress when you were found. I believe you were wearing the uniform of physicians from your period- what you may have called a lab coat."

I looked down at myself and for the first time became aware that I was not wearing my own clothing. I had on a very plain, white two piece outfit consisting of fabric that was stretchy, but not too tight and exceedingly comfortable.

"My period? Why do you keep speaking in past tense?" I questioned.

For a split second he looked uncertain and almost human. There was something that flickered in his dark eyes that may have been mistaken for emotion of some sort, but I didn't have time to study it; he quickly turned to the Captain in search of direction.

Captain Kirk sighed and bit his lower lip. When he spoke, his voice was soft and tentative. I just knew I wasn't going to like what I was about to hear. "You may find this incredibly hard to understand," he began, "but a lot of time has passed since your last memory. From all of the tests Dr. McCoy ran, we think that you are from sometime early in the 21rst century. A lot has changed since then. We have made great advances in space exploration and made contact with many…what you would have called aliens." He paused to let it all sink in before again gesturing to the Commander. "Spock is just one of many, he is a Vulcan."

I looked him over once more before clarifying, "He…is an alien race."

Captain Kirk again bit his lip and looked back at him. "Well, yes…and…no."

Commander Spock did nothing more than look sideways at his superior before explaining. "More immediately, my father was a Vulcan and my mother was a human." There was no sense of nostalgia in his voice the way in which others spoke of loved ones. "But when one looks over the longer timespan of evolution, we believe that humans, Romulans, and Vulcans all shared a common ancestor."

I shifted uneasily. "Yeah, higher order apes. Darwin figured that out 150 years ago."

"Darwin was a great scientist, but ultimately incorrect." He deadpanned. "It is to be expected that the earliest efforts to explain the great unknown be myopic, especially given the fact that in your time humans do not yet know of the existence of life outside of your planet. The process had only just begun in finding other planets around other stars outside of your own solar system. What Darwin could not possibly have known was that even in his day, the Romulans and my own people were watching your development. Your people have a shared history with mine, but they had long since forgotten it."

I shook my head trying to keep up. "So you are telling me that humans are space monkeys who left your planet and colonized Earth long ago, but then somehow conveniently forgot all of the history and technology needed for space travel and regressed to wearing animal skins and living in caves? The fossil record does not show humanoids with pointed ears who were buried with ray guns."

He ignored my joke, which irritated me, and said, "The split took place a long time ago and the colonization appears accidental. Conditions on your planet were harsh compared to Vulcan and the ancestors did what they could to survive. And I probably need not remind you that even in your time, scientists suspect that your people's account of historical events based on preserved bodily remains is less than complete. The conditions required to form a fossil only capture a small percentage of the available biodiversity of your planet. Our inner bone structure is identical. Perfectly preserved soft tissues are exceedingly rare, so it would be illogical to expect to find pointed ears on an otherwise nondescript skeleton."

"Do you ever shut up?" Dr. McCoy inquired with a harsh look at the Commander as he stalked his way across the room. "I have never seen a man like the sound of his own voice as much as you. Give the poor woman a rest for Christ sake."

Commander Spock only minimally acknowledged the tirade as if it was to be expected. Captain Kirk laughed lightly. "We get it, Bones. We overstayed our welcome." He touched the Commander's arm and added, "Let's go, Spock. We will come back when the Doc clears her."

The Commander looked to me and gave an ever so slight nod and then and expressionless glare to the doctor before turning on his heel and following the Captain out the door.

The doctor approached me and without a word, thrust his hand to my face and roughly pulled up each eyelid while shining a light in my eye. I tried not to recoil at the sudden aggression, but I would have thought he would say something first.

_Flesh mechanic!_

"Don't pay him any mind," he grumbled while he pushed on my shoulders to make me lay down, "he is probably the smartest bastard you will meet this side of the universe, but he ain't got a lick of common courtesy. That's the damn Vulcan in him."

I secretly wondered if the doctor was part Vulcan too.

"Are you in any pain?" He asked gruffly.

I wasn't sure he would care if I said yes, but you were supposed to be honest with your physician at all times, so I told him about my headache. He dug through a nearby crash cart and pulled out another hand held device that emitted a red laser. He scanned my head and looked at a screen thoughtfully while I was left wondering exactly what that was supposed to accomplish.

"Not surprising," he commented, "you still have some neurons that are trying to reconnect from the thaw. The Romulans' technology isn't as advanced as ours and you are damn lucky they didn't screw it up any more than they did. I was able to fix the worst of it, but the rest you will have to do on your own."

He seemed calmer now that he was in medical mode. He ransacked the drawer again and came out with a silver instrument that looked like a gun. He walked over to a shelving unit that held perhaps hundreds of vials full of colored liquids. He looked over the racks and chose a few before returning. He loaded a vial in the chamber just as one would load a bullet, held the instrument to my arm, and pulled the trigger. The gun made a hissing sound and I watched as the blue liquid drained from the vial. It hurt worse than I had anticipated and flinched when he gave me the second shot.

He casually tossed the gun back into the drawer and said, "That should take care of the pain in your head for awhile and the other will…"

Everything went black before I could find out what the last shot did.


	3. Chapter 3 Friends and Enemies

**Chapter 3- Friends and Enemies**

When I woke up, my head felt thick like it was filled with mud. The pain was gone, but I felt like I could sleep for another century. A young African-American woman wearing a blue uniform [came to my side and smiled wide. "Welcome back."

Her voice was soothing and I was envious. I realized my brain was still under the influence of drugs and therefore disinhibited, but damn it, she was simply beautiful. I made a note to keep that thought in my head and not let it slide out my mouth the next time I opened it. Instead of taking a chance, I did not reply other than to give a tight lipped smile. The last thing I wanted to do was to make an inappropriate overture to my caretakers.

"How do you feel?" she asked while scanning my head with the same device Dr. McCoy used.

"Sleepy." I admitted with a yawn.

"Would you like to rest some more?" She inquired while analyzing the readout.

"No," I protested while sitting up. I swooned momentarily, but managed to stay upright, "how long was I asleep?"

She put the device down and moved to a large screen mounted in the wall by my bed. She began touching various illuminated icons in rapid succession until she turned back with her smile and proclaimed "2 days and 7 hours."

"Yeah," I said stretching, "I think it is time to get up."

"I will notify the bridge," she declared walking to the medicine rack, "would you like something to help you wake up?"

"No!" I said quickly remembering how much the last set of shots hurt. "I don't suppose you have a Starbucks onboard."

"A Starbucks?" she asked politely. "Wait! Is that coffee drink?" She asked with a hint of recognition in her voice.

"They sold coffee, yes." I replied excited myself at the mind boggling statistical improbability that my joke might actually become a reality.

She returned to my bed and helped me to my feet, careful to support my weight until I properly balanced myself. "The replicator has a Starbucks program, but I have never used it. I couldn't make sense of any of the options, but I do not drink coffee anyway." She seemed somewhat embarrassed by that fact. We stopped in front of a machine with another screen like the one by my bed.

I stood looking at it for a few seconds until I realized that she was waiting for me to do something. "Do I speak to it…or…push buttons… somewhere?" I prompted.

She apologized profusely. "I forgot you came before replicators. Sorry, they have just been around forever, I can't imagine anyone in the Federation not knowing how to use one."

I laughed lightly and said, "I guess I am showing my age."

She pushed more icons and then directed me to speak to it. I ordered my favorite drink: a venti peppermint mocha, skim, no whip. The machine seemed to contemplate my request before the iconic white and green cup materialized out of nowhere complete with a brown recycled paper sleeve. I was completely bowled over; simultaneously filled with giddy pleasure and an insane drive to know how it was done, the scientist in me demanded it. I removed the hot cup and looked under the apparatus, but saw nothing special other than a black plate held in place with four rivets.

"Is something wrong?" The young woman asked apprehensively.

I took a sip of the magic coffee and smiled. "Nothing at all." It wasn't perfect, but it was pretty damn close to the real thing. And the best thing was I didn't have to insert $5 anywhere. The machine didn't appear to take money of any kind. This was the best dream ever!

I took another sip and savored the sweet caffeine. I could feel it warm my body from the inside and the fog in my head began to dissipate. I looked back at the lady in the blue uniform. "What is your name?"

"Madison Abrams." She replied while she extended her hand with another big smile.

I shook her hand, glad that at least one familiar custom still seemed appropriate. "Nice to meet you, Ms. Abrams. Are you a doctor as well?"

She shook her head with an exasperated sigh. "Not exactly. I finished my courses at the Academy, but I still have to complete a mission on a Starfleet vessel before I can graduate. I was extremely lucky to be assigned to the Enterprise and so far I am enjoying it."

I took another hit of coffee and chuckled. "I see some things never change. I had the same set-up when I went to grad school. I too was forced into a year of servitude before I could call myself 'doctor', it is frustrating to have all of the knowledge and do all of the work, but get none of the respect. So is Dr. McCoy your supervisor then?"

"Yes." She said quietly as though he would spring out of a supply cabinet and yell 'Ah-ha!'. I gave her a knowing grin and she returned the gesture. All students who are in the medical field has at least one supervisor that makes them wish they had chosen a different occupation and I could only imagine what the cantankerous Dr. McCoy was like to work for. I had occasionally taken medical students at my practice who had developed post traumatic stress due to overly demanding supervisors who seemed impossible to placate and who also held their future in their ungrateful, tyrannical hands.

"Hang in there," I gently encouraged, "I know it can be hard sometimes, but keep your focus on where you want to be in the future, not the temporary situation you are in now. Do what you have to in order to get through, but don't let him change the way you practice medicine. You are a good doctor now, you can only get better."

She hung her head and dabbed at her eyes. "Thank you." She whispered.

I gently placed my hand on her shoulder. "If you ever need to talk, come find me. I am sure a lot has changed, but some things never do."

I knew exactly how she felt. I knew the feeling of pouring every ounce of yourself into helping your patients only to know it would never be enough by someone else's standards. I knew what it was like to be talented and efficient, yet wholly unappreciated. She was clearly trying to put on a brave face while dying inside. Seeing a promising student like her suffer made me ache. I didn't know what options she had available to her as a member of the crew, but I didn't want her to feel alone as I did when I was a student.

"Is something wrong, Ensign?" Came a familiar voice that sent chills up my spine.

She stood up straight and saluted smartly. "No, Commander." She barked while looking straight ahead.

He slowly approached with his hands behind his back and the ever present stern expression on his face. "Did Dr. McCoy clear the patient?" He droned talking about me as if I were not standing no more than two feet to his left. It was amazing how he could induce both anger and panic in me at the same time. Part of me wanted to sucker punch him in the gut while the other just wanted to run as far away from him as I could get.

"No, Commander, I am." She reported still staring just over his right shoulder. "Dr. McCoy left her in my care. She is fully awake and alert. She may now be discharged with the restrictions of no heavy physical labor and rest as needed until her next exam in two weeks."

He continued to stand there and stare at her as if he had cause to second guess her medical opinion. I found it arrogant and offensive. It was as if he were using both his greater height and rank to intimidate her without ever saying a word.

"Excuse me." I said while slowly wiggling my way between them to place my now empty cup on the counter by the magic coffee machine. I made it a point to face him and look him in the eye to let him know I was displeased as I passed. He moved only his eyes to watch me and I felt a twinge of victory when I noticed they were a bit wider than usual; they held not anger, but wonder.

"I have orders from the Captain to show you to your quarters." He said in a low voice that left no room for argument. He turned and headed for the door and I followed, but not before looking back and winking at Madison. She continued to look ahead, but smiled.


	4. Chapter 4 Something Unexplained

**Chapter 4- Something Unexplained**

He said nothing as he stalked down the twisting hall and I struggled to keep up with him. In the hallway we passed others in the same style of uniform as I had previously seen, but in addition to blue, some wore red or yellow. I had no idea what each signified, but there seemed to be a lot of blue. Some of the passersby saluted and some simply muttered "Commander" as we made our way down a series of halls that all looked alike. He made no effort to return any of the greetings.

"I am never going to remember this." I grumbled.

Commander Spock stopped in his tracks so fast I nearly ran into him. He abruptly turned to a black panel in the wall and calmly stated, "This is an interface to the ship's computer. If you get lost…"

"When, not if." I corrected in a somber tone. I was so directionally challenged it wasn't funny.

He gave me a curious look and it dawned on me that he was probably not a man that was accustomed to being interrupted. I nodded and gestured for him to continue.

"_When_ you find yourself lost," he went on, "you can find these in several locations on most levels and in all turbolifts. Simply ask it for the information you require. For example," he turned to face the screen and said in an authoritative voice, "Computer, when is the midday meal?"

An electronic voice that sounded like a woman replied, "At 1200 hours in 10 forward."

He turned to me, but I was unimpressed. "What the hell is a 10 forward and doesn't it do 12 hour civilian time?"

He looked tired, but turned back to the computer and asked, "Computer, what is 1200 in civilian time?" The voice said it was 12:00pm. "And how do I get to 10 forward?" The computer indicated we should continue down the hall until we arrived at an turbolift. We should tell the turbolift to go to deck 10 and continue straight upon exit until we reached our destination. "Simple enough?" he inquired, but he didn't stick around to hear the answer. He was already heading for the turbolifts and once again I was jogging to keep up.

The turbolift closed with a soft swoosh and he told it to go to deck 7. For some reason I was startled when it began moving swiftly without his touching any buttons, even though there were no buttons to press that I could see. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, staring straight ahead. I felt awkward as well as a twinge of guilt when I realized that he was agitated. I could see through the stoicism, there was something very wrong and although I had only known him for the briefest of moments, I could tell that it was not normal for him. I thought the best course of action was to offer an olive branch.

"I am sorry I made you angry down there, Commander Spock." I felt like a guilty child who wanted desperately to get back in her parent's graces. In a way I did, they could probably shoot me out of an airlock bay into space at any minute with nothing to stop them. If one species of alien apparently did it, there was nothing holding them back. I was living on borrowed time.

He glanced sideways at me and stated in a flat tone, "You did not make me angry. And as you are not a member of Starfleet, you are not required to address me by my rank. You may call me Spock."

"Well then," I said quietly, "Spock. I know it is probably impolite of me to say so, but bullshit."

He turned to me and raised his eyebrows. This was the first real reaction I had ever seen from him and he appeared genuinely surprised. "Does that mean you disagree with me?" He asked. When I affirmed, he added, "I must study human 21rst century colloquialisms if we are to effectively communicate. But what is your basis for disagreement?"

I smiled at him and almost laughed. Just as Dr. McCoy said, he may be incredibly intelligent, but he was astoundingly clueless sometimes. "This is what I do for a living, remember? I have had a lot of practice at this and I can see through you. I can tell that something is very wrong and I can also see that apparently the only way you know how to deal with it is massive containment. But if that is the only coping skill you have, you will eventually explode."

The turbolift stopped and the doors opened. We nearly crashed into each other as he failed to observe the custom of letting the woman out first. Perhaps that was a custom that he was unfamiliar with or it had simply fallen out of fashion. Or perhaps he was accustomed to exiting first because of his rank. At any rate, we both made it out before the turbolift closed, but he didn't skip a beat. "Fascinating theory, please continue."

I felt as though he were placating me, but I took the opportunity to make my case. "I can't explain to you exactly how I do it, but I can usually know what another person is feeling pretty easily. Maybe it is simply my picking up on subtle changes of expression, posture, or tone of voice, but all I can say is something has changed with you. You don't _feel_ the way you normally do. There have been times when I have felt cold from your absolute lack of emotional content, but at least twice now I have seen something in your eyes. I didn't know what it was at the time, but I think you experienced something and it scared you shitless because that is something that normally doesn't happen to you. I know you were frightened because I felt it, I could feel your anxiety and confusion."

He had long ago stopped walking and looked intently at me for what seemed hours before he stated, "I have not known humans to posses extrasensory traits. Do you have special abilities such as telepathy or are you an empath perhaps?" His tone was not accusatory, but clearly curious.

"No," I laughed, "I do not have superpowers of any kind. I am a lowly human who for whatever reason seems to be uniquely attuned to the way another person feels. As I said, it is probably my training that has cued me into small details. But all humans have the capacity for empathy, it is the social glue that held us together throughout our evolution. It is what made us stick together in family units, then in tribes, and finally civilizations. It is what made us share our food with other members who were hungry, and care for the sick, and bury the dead. It is an inherent drive in all of us to share the pain and joy we see in others. I would think the part of you which is human would recognize that."

Again he abruptly turned and stalked down the hall without a word. He stopped a short distance away and stood in the hall until I caught up. "These are your quarters," he coldly declared as he walked up to the door which opened of its own accord. "clothing has been provided for you and your quarters are equipped with facilities for cleansing rituals, a replicator, and a computer interface. Is there anything else you require before I take leave?"

He was obviously rattled and trying his best to cover it. I knew I hit a nerve, I had seen that very reaction from patients when I got too close to the truth by breaking through their carefully constructed defenses. I knew the next sensible step was to back off and not breach the topic until he brought it up. "I do not want to keep you from your duties. I will ask the computer if I need help. Thank you for the escort, Spock."

He curtly nodded and all but ran back to the turbolifts like his pants were on fire. I wondered if I had pushed too much and in doing so missed the opportunity to really know an alien. Now that I had him figured out, he didn't seem like the big bad wolf anymore. Although he would never admit it, he was very much human.


	5. Chapter 5 Moment of Truth

**A/N: Thank you to all who reviewed to offer both encouragement and constructive critiques, it is very much appreciated! **

**Chapter 5- Moment of Truth**

It took me at least an hour to figure out how to operate the shower. When I finally got it, the water was decadently hot, but smelled ever so slightly of chlorine. I took my time and used what I assumed was some kind of soap from a bottle labeled "Neptune Bath Salts", and found it easily melted and lathered but was incredibly hard to rinse off. It smelled like cough medicine, but I imagined it effectively cleaned the skin if it smelled sterile. I put on the clothes that were neatly folded at the foot of the bed and felt almost complete.

I was terribly hungry, but the computer said it was only 8:30am. Lunch was not for another 3 and a half hours and my stomach was complaining loudly. I bravely approached the replicator machine and vowed to figure it out before then. I carefully studied the illuminated icons and quickly found that all in all it was pretty intuitive. The screen displayed basic figural depictions of what the machine could produce. Food was indicated by a plate with utensils, drinks by a glass, and first aid items by the caduceus. There were symbols I could not decipher, but I felt it best not to experiment too much least I break it and it catch fire or something.

I chose the food symbol and was confronted by a running litany of things for which I could not even begin to guess the contents of: Gespar, Plomeek soup, Pok Tar, Baghol, Zilm'kach, and the list went on. I was impatient, so I pressed the next option that appeared: Gagh. It was like culinary roulette, but I enjoyed many ethnic foods so I was game. I peered intently at the slot where my food would appear and was horrified when I was presented with a plate of what looked to be somewhat crispy earthworms. The stench was overwhelming and my brain advised me not to put something that smelled that bad into my mouth. I agreed and left the plate untouched.

I sat on the end of the bed where my clothes had been. The room was absolutely silent and somewhat cold. Above the bed was a window that looked out into absolute blackness dotted by small points of white light. The stars seemed stationary like we were not moving. I should have been ecstatic and filled with a sense of awe. Ever since I was a young kid, I would look to the night sky and dream of being there and imagined the things I would see. But all I could feel was a profound and deep sense of sadness and loss.

"Computer?" I asked somewhat hesitant, I wasn't sure if it was always listening or not. The very thought of that made me paranoid. Was it watching too? Was I actually talking to a computer, or some kind of switchboard operator deep in the bowels of the ship? The female voice instructed me to complete my inquiry, so I warily asked, "What year is it?"

"It is currently stardate 2260.58." The voice cooed.

I held my head in my hands in exhaustion. It seemed that the computer required constant translation and my brain just had too much to deal with to ascertain conversions as well. "I don't have a clue what a stardate is," I growled, "can you just simply tell me what year it would be on Earth?!"

"According to the Earth calendar, it is February 27th, 2260." It patiently answered.

2260. I sat on the bed, head down, absolutely unable to feel anything at all. I couldn't force my mind to do the math so I could determine how long it had been, I just knew it was an impossibly long time. My fatigued brain was barely able to maintain my biological functions, anything requiring higher cognitive processes would be delayed until further notice.

I sat there in the deafening silence until I thought I would go mad. It was as if I could feel everything that constructed my sense of being and purpose slowly crumble and fall away until I was left with nothing. The full force of reality threatened to crush me until I found myself reflexively curling into the fetal position and whispering, "Wake up, you have to wake up." This dream just wasn't fun anymore. It all felt too real and menacing. The panic rose to an unbearable pitch and the isolation was excruciating. I was so far away from everything and anyone I knew both in terms of distance and time that I felt as though I would be annihilated by the hopelessness.

"Computer," I said, my voice breaking, "do you have a picture of the Earth?" I looked to the screen and my heart broke to see an image of the familiar bright blue sphere slowly turning against the blackness of space. It was painfully breathtaking.

_Home._

Except it was no longer home. I hadn't been there for so long it was almost foreign to me now in the way that one has vague memories of kindergarten but would be hard pressed for details on the exact nature of the experience. I lay there sinking ever deeper into depression and a disturbing sense of fugue. I no longer knew who I was or where I belonged. People speak of feeling insignificant in the face of the cosmos, but I was literally lost in space and was sorely lacking a sense of direction. I, the person who had helped so many through various existential crises, now needed answers and I didn't have the first clue where to look.

The scientist in me screamed for me to get a grip. I knew as a professional where this downward spiral of unhealthy rumination ended, but I just couldn't shake it. It may have been different if I had volunteered to be in my current position, but I assumed I was taken against my will although I did not know exactly when, how, or why. As a scientist, I had always found comfort in logic and often relied on it to guide me in times of uncertainty, but for this I had no explanation other than to staunchly believe I was dreaming. Even now, that last bastion of sanity seemed to be slipping away into the realm of improbability. I didn't have access to the new rules of reality with which to form new hypotheses and I was left with nothing.

I had been robbed of my most precious possession: reason. I wondered if this is what my schizophrenic patients felt when they could no longer distinguish between vivid hallucinations and reality. It was absolute hell not being able to trust anything that your senses told you was real.

I felt weak and disoriented, so I continued to lay in a miserable, self loathing heap, staring at the spinning Earth and steeped in the rancid odor of slowly decaying worms until I heard a beeping sound. Then I heard it again, but I didn't know where it was coming from and to be honest, I didn't have the energy to care. I barely noticed the door slide open, but I was forced to come to terms with Spock standing at the foot of the bed with a very severe expression on his face.


	6. Chapter 6 Unlikely Bedfellows

**Chapter 6- Unlikely Bedfellows**

His eyes bore holes into me before turning to look at the image on the screen and then back to me as if he knew exactly what was going on. Of all the people on this ship, he was the last I would expect to understand the soul crushing realization I had come to. Although I desperately wanted to tell someone what I was going through, I thought I would have better success for commiseration from a brick wall than from him.

He looked over to the mess I left in the replicator and dryly said, "Captain Kirk was surprised you didn't report for the midday meal. According to Dr. McCoy you have not had solid nutrients for several days and you should have been hungry, but I see that you have decided to test the replicator." He looked back to me with just a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Gagh. Interesting choice for human consumption."

"The machine is broken," I muttered in a barely audible voice, "I wanted food and it gave me worms. Worms are not food, they are used for bait to catch fish, which is food."

"It is food to the Klingons," he informed as though he were instructing a child, "a popular staple of their diet. Do you wish to discard your meal?"

"Whatever." I mumbled. I couldn't even be bothered to properly annunciate anymore. I watched out of the corner of my eye as he strode to the machine and pressed a button that looked vaguely like the international symbol for recycle. I watched as the awful pile of swill slowly became vaporized and sucked back up into the apparatus; all that is, but the pungent smell that lingered in the room. I made a note for later to see if the replicator could make something like Febreeze to neutralize the nauseating stench.

He again looked at the screen and seemed to have some kind of internal debate before stating, "Earth. Do you miss your home planet?"

Even in my disoriented state, I could tell that he was not entirely comfortable with opening this conversation, but truthfully I was just as reluctant to engage him in content that I felt he could not appropriately handle. So, I opted for a vague and halfhearted "Not really."

He again seemed mildly surprised and observed, "It has been my experience that humans often feel a deep sense of longing for things they find familiar when they no longer have them. Is the Earth no longer of significance to you?"

I simply could not endure one more minute of this torturous dialog with him. It only served to drive the pain deeper and in a flash of reflexive anger I hissed, "Why the hell do you care what is or is not important to me? You have no idea how lucky you are that you feel nothing. I would give anything for that right now."

He graciously ignored my rudeness and quietly replied, "It is not accurate to say that I feel nothing. It would only be logical that you would feel a sense of loss for your home world when you can no longer go back."

I knew he was trying to be helpful in the only way he knew how, but it was all I could do to swallow the sick desperation I felt churning inside. I rolled onto my back and laid my arm across my eyes in a futile attempt to block out the world. I just wanted it all to go away. "And what would you know about that?" I asked sarcastically, "Did you read that in a book somewhere?"

He paused before emphatically stating, "Experience."

I slowly peeked at him from under my arm. He appeared to be dead serious which once again awakened the clinician in me and pulled me out of the swirling cesspool of self-pity. He opened the door of self disclosure just enough to pique my interest, but too far to slam it shut before I seized on the opportunity to learn more about him.

I sat up, pulled my knees up to my chin and wrapped my arms around them. "Continue." I prompted.

He stood absolutely still and I almost smiled at the momentary flash of panic that stirred in his dark eyes as he realized he had painted himself into a corner. He clearly wasn't counting on the possibility of me questioning him. After all he was in a position of high rank, he was probably so used to giving orders he never thought that having the tables turned on him was a viable option. I raised my eyebrows to indicate that I was waiting on an answer. He blinked slowly and clenched his jaw tight before turning to the screen.

"Computer," he said somewhat agitated, "show me Vulcan."

The image of Earth was quickly replaced by another sphere. The planet looked remarkably similar to Earth with the land mass to water ratio reversed, giving the orb a bit more of a reddish hue. It seemed as though it rotated on its axis slightly faster than the Earth. Weather systems were present, although the cloud cover seemed thinner and more sparse. I stared in silent wonder; this was exactly the type of thing I dreamed of when I looked at the sky as a child.

He went on: "This was my home world, a class M planet like your own. In fact, Vulcan was only 16 light years from Earth."

I looked at him skeptically. "Not possible. Even though we had just started planet hunting, Hubble was able to see greater distances than that. NASA has cataloged almost 300 planets within a 300 light year radius from our sun! If your planet was that close, we would have seen you."

He sighed patiently. "It is true that your civilization had made significant steps toward the identification of other habitable planets, in fact, that work was the beginning of what would become the United Federation of Planets. But the technology being used at the time did not allow for direct observation of other worlds, and was only able to detect planets the size of Jupiter or larger. The presence and composition of class M planets, like Vulcan, could only be inferred by utilizing the polarization of light as it shifted across the red-blue spectrum due to the pull of gravity on the star it orbited. We were, in effect, hiding in plain sight. Our respective civilizations officially made contact in 2044."

"That would have been within my lifetime." I said in awe. I was a bit aggravated that we could have been duped so easily, but also exhilarated to think that for all of human history we have looked to the sky and wondered if we were alone in the vast darkness of the universe. To think that other sentient beings lived so close for so long was almost unbelievable. "When was the last time you were there?"

"2258," He said looking back at the screen, "minutes before it was destroyed."

I straightened with a start. "Destroyed? How do you mean? It wasn't us, was it?" I knew all too well the propensity of humans to take by force what they wanted and it wouldn't surprise me in the least if we tried that same strategy in space.

"No," he answered in a low voice returning to me, "humans have always been allies of the Vulcans. It was destroyed by the Romulans using Vulcan technology." He turned once more to the floating image and added, "And now it is no more."

"Your home is completely gone?" I whispered. I simply couldn't envision destruction on such a massive scale. "And the people that you say had me and then shot me into space used your own weapons against you?" He nodded stiffly, but said nothing.

I looked back at the screen with a sense of sadness. How many people lost their lives when the end of their world came? Were they scared, or did it happen suddenly? I was completely at a loss; the human mind is simply not equipped to process immeasurable suffering such as that. "I…I am so sorry for your loss, Spock. You must feel so angry and lonely." I knew the words were painfully inadequate and ultimately not helpful when applied to absolute genocide, but it was the best I could do.

He looked me in the eye and quietly said, "Your condolences are accepted. I have long ago come to accept the fate of my people. I have also come to realize since that time that a sense of community or belonging comes not from being with your own kind, but from a shared history with those around you. In order for you to better adjust to your new surroundings, the Captain has asked me to bring you to the bridge to meet the crew. I will place myself outside your door until you are ready."

He gave his usual slight nod and did as he said he would. I sat on the bed a few more minutes and thought about what he said. It was true that I would not meet another human who grew up in the same world as I did, so in that sense we had both lost our concept of home. But he was right when he implied that relationships with others were what gave life meaning and purpose, no matter who you shared that with.

Who would have thought a coldly rational being such as he would be able to give sound advice on something as deep and warm as the bonds that humans find so comfortable?


	7. Chapter 7 Godzilla's Posse

**Chapter 7- Godzilla's Posse**

I asked the replicator for another coffee to go and hurried out the door so as not to keep Spock waiting too long. Perhaps it was my imagination, but I could still detect a slight hint of worm in the steaming cup.

"Interesting," he noted looking at the white and green cup, "It was a well known fact that humans were fond of the coffee drink, but it seems this is your only form of sustenance. How is this possible?"

I cautiously sipped the sweet goodness so as not to scald my mouth. "It isn't," I answered as we began to walk to the turbolifts, "I am starving, but this seems to be the only thing I can get the machine to reliably make. What time is it, anyway?"

"It is almost 1700 hours." I glanced at him and he corrected, "5:00pm."

I wondered how he did it, he wasn't wearing a watch that I could see. It was persistently dark in space, so the concept of day and night was becoming lost on me. I sighed and looked at my cup. At any rate, I was exactly in the same spot I was this morning: ravenously hungry and only coffee to fill my belly. I felt dizzy and tired, but I had an appearance to make. I took a big gulp of my drink and fought the urge to faint. No matter what happened, I simply couldn't miss dinner.

We stopped and waited on a lift. While we stood there he appeared to scrutinize me closely, his face immobile but his deep brown eyes darted back and forth several times. I tolerated it for a few seconds and pretended not to notice until it became unnerving. "Looking for something?" I asked casually.

"You do not appear to be well." He stated emphatically. "The blood has drained from the capillaries in your face, suggesting a state of fear or illness. We will first go to the sick bay to rule out any latent conditions you may be suffering before proceeding to the bridge."

"Relax, Spock. I'm not dying." I said with a laugh, "It happens sometimes. I assure you I am not scared of anything, it is only temporary and I will be fine."

The turbolift arrived and he commanded it to go to deck 5, seemingly ignoring my protestations. My heart sank when we exited and a swarm of blue uniforms coursed through the halls like blood in an artery.

He must have noted my trepidation at the possibility of once more being worked over by the charming Dr. Jekyll. He attempted to calm me by rationalizing, "I am certain your health will be found sufficient. The exam should not exceed a few moments; it is nothing more than a formality. It is my duty as the ship's Science Officer to ensure a satisfactory conclusion is achieved for your symptoms and presented to the Capitan." Somehow that didn't ease my anxiety in the least.

Dr. McCoy met us at the entrance with a scowl. It seemed as though he were leaving for the day, but Spock insisted he see me first. I was startled when he simply threw down the items he was carrying and stalked back into the exam area, mumbling, "Damn pointy eared bastard." Spock did not react to the outburst other than to gesture for me to follow.

I had never been in the military, but I was almost certain that one was not allowed to address his superior in that way and I was almost as shocked by Spock's repeated willingness to ignore the infraction. While he didn't seem particularly vindictive, almost everyone else on the ship appeared to regard him with a fearful sense of reverence as if he were Godzilla stalking the hallways and terrorizing the citizens of Tokyo. Did I have it all wrong and Dr. McCoy actually outranked him? There was definitely something going on between the two, but I couldn't figure out the exact nature of the relationship.

As Spock and I followed Dr. McCoy I caught a glimpse of Madison, but she was tending to another patient and seemed not to notice the ruckus that was taking place. I sheepishly took a seat on the edge of the bed nearest Dr. McCoy while he removed what looked like a syringe. He roughly pushed my sleeve up and jammed the instrument into my arm to remove blood. I clenched my teeth, but was determined not to give him the satisfaction of gasping or worse yet fainting. He quickly stormed into another room, still grumbling although I couldn't tell what he was saying.

I was just starting to enjoy the absence when he returned and asked rhetorically, "Do you want my medical opinion? When your stomach feels empty, put food in your mouth and chew. You feel like crap because your nutrient levels are low." He lifted the dreaded silver gun and shot me with something before I could react. I sat squirming in pain and really hating his unnecessary tactics of guerrilla medicine as he added, "and that will boost the oxygen capacity of the hemoglobin in your blood until you become acclimated. Right now you are only getting about 82% saturation." He picked his items up from the floor and yelled over his shoulder, "Call me if it gets worse" as he stormed out of the facility.

I wasn't sure I wanted to even if I had crawled onto death's doorstep. "As I surmised," Spock said lightly, "a fast and efficient examination with a satisfactory outcome."

"For you, perhaps." I grumbled, rubbing my arm. "That man is a maniac. Give him some time off or something."

We walked slowly back to the turbolifts. "I believe he has been offered the leave due him in accordance with Starfleet regulations, but he in every instance has declined. It is his prerogative to stay on board."

He ordered the lift to the bridge and I asked, "Is the O2 thing a common problem during space travel?"

"For humans, to varying degrees." He raised his sharply angled eyebrows a fraction of an inch. "But not for me or other races with copper based blood. Flight medicine has made many improvements since your time when travelers floated weightless in capsules. The long term lack of gravity caused all manner of dysregulation from the digestive system to bone loss. The advent of artificial gravity systems aboard starships was a major advance in space exploration."

"Your hemoglobin is copper based?" I asked in wonder. "There were some species of crustaceans on Earth that had copper based blood, but it isn't as efficient as iron and they tend to have slow metabolisms."

"I believe the term you are implying is hemocyanin; hemoglobin, being an iron based system of oxygen transport, would not be an appropriate substitution. Indeed, my metabolic rate is slower than that of an average human, however, efficiency is a matter of perspective. It is correct that iron based systems carry a larger amount of oxygen per deciliter, but in the context of space travel where oxygen is limited, am I not the more efficient being if I require less to continue all biological functions? I believe you have fallen victim to an illogical axiom quite common in your time: bigger is better?"

I broke out into laughter which seemed to please him gauging by the ever so slight curl at the corners of his mouth and the mischievous sparkle that danced in his eyes. So he did have a sense of humor after all! I was beginning to worry that he was permanently unable to comprehend sarcasm or a clever play on words. People with brain damage in the right hemisphere sometimes had that problem and it was mind numbingly tedious to always frame your communications in absolute literal terms so they could understand it. I felt like banging my head on my desk repeatedly after seeing someone like that.

I exited the lift still wearing a broad smile from Spock's small joke and immediately caught the eye of Capitan Kirk, who swiveled toward us in a large chair at the center of the room. His eyes lit up and he reflexively returned the smile. "I was wondering if you two were going to show up. We were going to go to dinner without you."

"I apologize for the delay, Capitan." Spock said standing at full attention, "We had to make an unforeseen visit to sick bay."

Capitan Kirk waved his hand dismissively toward him. "Easy, Spock. I know, Bones called me." He gave a small apologetic smile to me and asked, "Are you feeling better?"

"I was fine to begin with," I shot a friendly glance toward Spock, "he made me go just for looking pale. It was ridiculous."

Capitan Kirk chuckled knowingly and replied, "Believe me, I know how persistent he can be. But he takes his job very seriously and once he gets something in his head, you have a better chance at pacifying a Kaylar with a sucker." His analogy was totally lost on me, but I smiled politely nonetheless. "Don't take it personally." He advised with a shrug.

The turbolift opened behind us, and I stepped aside as several people filed out and saluted the Capitan before replacing others at various stations full of panels with blinking lights. I secretly hoped that the computer system wasn't designed by Microsoft; encountering an 'unexpected error' or a blue screen of death seemed especially perilous given the nature of the application. Some of the relieved members quietly exited the room via the lift, but a few individuals gathered around Capitan Kirk and made their way toward Spock and I.

"I thought you might want to meet some of the other officers on the ship," Capitan Kirk explained while gesturing to each person in turn, "this is Uhura, Sulu, and Chekov." I shook hands with each and was somewhat amazed at the collective youth of the crew; not one member looked to be over 30. "Now that's out of the way, what do you all say we move this party to 10?" He asked rubbing his hands together and licking his lips.

We all crammed into the turbolift and it was a tight fit. I was smashed in the back between Sulu and Chekov and we took turns quietly muttering apologies as we stepped on each other in an attempt to make room for the others. As the lift descended, it seemed to be a bit slower than usual and I wondered about its maximum capacity, better yet, the safety mechanism in place should it fail and we go plummeting to the bottom like a well packed can of sardines- however long that would be.

I stood staring at the back of Spock's neck, trying to breathe lightly so he wouldn't feel it. I knew it was in some ways unavoidable, but it still seemed impolite to do so. As we stood facing forward in complete silence, I began to notice the lack of Muzak raining down on the occupants. I smiled to myself imagining the jazzed up tinkling of Europe's "Final Countdown" or Elton John's "Rocket Man" perhaps. Getting rid of that nuisance was a huge improvement indeed, but I was more relieved when we reached our destination and we all regained our sense of personal space, and absolutely ecstatic at the thought of finally getting edible food.


	8. Chapter 8 An Order of Despair To Go

**A/N: Thanks to Lahara who pointed out a slight problem: looks like I had some explaining to do regarding the exact nature of the doctor's education and why she seems to know more than she should. Thanks to all and keep the reviews coming!**

**Chapter 8- An Order of Despair To Go, Please**

The room was full of comfortable amenities like plush chairs, soft classical music, and a warm ambiance. It was bustling with activity, people of all persuasions and color of uniform sat together and seemed to revel in the food and shared company. The sight of it all made me instantly happy and I felt welcomed. I followed the group to a small side room where 6 chairs were arranged around a circular table with a clear glass top. Apparently, we had reservations.

I took a seat between Sulu and Uhura and was momentarily filled with panic when a member of the wait staff approached and began taking orders. No one at the table had a menu, yet mysteriously seemed to know what it was they wanted. My face flushed when my turn came. "I will probably need a menu," I said somewhat ashamed, "with pictures if possible." The memory of the plate of worms was still strong in my head and I wanted to avoid making that tragic mistake again.

"_Right_," Capitan Kirk said as the light went off in his head, "let's keep this simple, do you eat meat?" I nodded yes and he confidently addressed the waiter, "Bring the lady a nice steak."

"Capitan Kirk," I started hesitantly, really not wanting to be argumentative, "I don't like steak."

"Oh," he replied looking to his left toward Chekov trying to think of something fast, "then I will have her steak." He sounded somewhat deflated and I felt terrible for being so difficult. "What would Bones want?" he almost whispered getting up to look around the cafeteria.

"He vuld vant to be left alone." Chekov muttered in a thick Russian accent. Uhura nodded vigorously in agreement, but Capitan Kirk did not seem to hear his warning. He found the good doctor and summoned him.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dr. McCoy approach and take a hit from what looked like a flask. "Bones," the Capitan said in a friendly voice, "what should a person eat if they haven't had food in awhile?"

His eyes darted to me and narrowed somewhat. I wanted to sink under the table under his gaze- I felt totally incompetent if I couldn't even be trusted to independently order food, and he already seemed to dislike me. "I'm a doctor, Jim, not the damn Maître'd." He growled. A small laugh escaped my lips before I could stop it and Sulu was having an equally hard time suppressing a smile with his eyes clenched tight. "Start off slow, basic foods like soup or mashed potatoes. Then go whole hog for all I care! Jesus, Jim." He spat taking another hit and walking away.

Capitan Kirk returned to his seat with an irrepressible smile and asked, "How about some nice comfort food like a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup?" It sounded delicious and I agreed.

It wasn't long before individual conversations broke out, so I took the opportunity to get to know my neighbors. "So, Uhura," I began in a conversational tone, "what is it you do?"

"I am a communications officer," she proudly replied, "I majored in xenolinguistics at the Academy." Her voice was mesmerizing and I was pleasantly surprised.

"Xenolinguistics," I mused, "let me figure this one out. Xeno means foreign, so you are an expert in foreign languages?" I guessed.

"Yes!" she said somewhat surprised, "I am proficient in 83% of all Federation languages." She looked to the table with an embarrassed smile, "I am still working on the others, some of the more obscure dialects have proven to be quite a challenge."

"Wow!" I exclaimed. "Mastering more than one language is quite an accomplishment, but more than three is astounding, good for you!" I was genuinely happy for her achievement and she nonchalantly demurred as if it were really no big deal, but she was clearly was beaming inside at the recognition.

"So, what about you?" She asked with a winning smile, "Only a select few of us were briefed about you."

"And you were one of them?" I inquired.

"Normally I wouldn't have been, I am not a ranking officer yet. But they weren't sure what language you would speak, so I was brought in." She explained, "Lucky for them it is plain old English."

"What do you want to know?" I asked somewhat warily. The truth was I wasn't quite ready to talk about my life that now lay in ruin and aside from this, I was pretty short on detail regarding recent events, so the list of possible topics was going to be pretty limited.

"Well," she thoughtfully, "what year are you from?"

At least she was starting with slow pitches instead of the fastballs I just knew she was itching to hurl at me. "2009." I said simply, assuming she meant the last year I remembered being alive and not the year I was born.

"Wow." Came a breathless voice from my left. I turned to see Sulu with his mouth hanging slightly open. "I'm sorry," he quickly apologized, "I didn't mean to listen in on your conversation, but…' His voice slowly faded and his eyes became distant again the more he thought about it.

Thankfully the food came and I closed my eyes in pleasure as the hot soup slowly warmed me from my throat to the pit of my stomach. It was surprisingly rich and flavorful and I had to restrain myself from picking up the entire bowl and drinking it down in huge gulps.

"That was a long time ago," Uhura casually observed while poking at some kind of salad, "how are you adapting to the modern age?"

"As best I can." I replied cryptically. I was aware that she was only trying to make polite conversation and of course it would only be natural to be fascinated by what was essentially a living fossil, but I was never any good at being the center of attention.

"So, we heard that you are a doctor." Sulu rejoined enjoying a plate of noodles and what looked like chunks of chicken…or maybe tofu…or something else entirely. "I'll bet Dr. McCoy is enjoying that."

"I can't imagine he enjoys much of anything except irritation and some light sadism." I mused. "But I am not a medical doctor anyway, I am a psychologist. A neuropsychologist, actually."

"Let me figure that out," Uhura said with a sly smile, "Neuro like a neuron or neurology. So you…talk…to…neurons?" She was entirely confused, but it made me laugh. I imagined myself rapping on someone's skull and yelling 'Hello! I know you are in there!'

"No," I replied with a smile, "I specialized in injuries of the central nervous system and the behavioral or cognitive effects they caused. I also worked with people who were chronically mentally ill and in all honesty had no real expectation of recovery."

"None of that sounds familiar," Sulu admitted, "I don't think there are people that do that anymore. At any rate, cures for the serious kind of long term mental problems like you describe have been around for a long time." I apparently didn't hide my reaction at being categorically declared obsolete and Uhura sent him a fierce look across the table, prompting him to add in a halting voice, "But, you know, I could be wrong. What do I know? I am just a helmsman."

I didn't know why I was surprised. On the one hand I was glad that a cure had been found to end the torment of patients who believed they had bugs crawling under their skin and literally tore their limbs open with their bare hands in an attempt to rid their bodies of the imaginary invasion, nearly bleeding to death in the process. But I was saddened that my craft was no longer in practice, underlining the fact that I served no real purpose in this new reality. Everything that I had worked so many years for and my very title of doctor now meant absolutely nothing. I had been reduced to an antiquated curiosity.

"So," Uhura said trying desperately to right the ship that was now sinking, "how long did you have to go to school for that?"

"I finished the program early," I replied half-heartedly, "but I spent a few years earning other degrees in science, philosophy, and religion. I guess I just had too many interests."

"What kind of science did you study?" Sulu asked more confidently.

"All kinds," I sighed stirring my soup listlessly, "Geology, biology, physics, psychopharmacology, so on and so forth."

"Really?" he asked with genuine interest, "Then I will bet you will be interested in all of the technology we have on board, since it is mostly based on physics. You must meet Scotty! Maybe I will ask the Capitan if I can take you down to the engine room tomorrow so he can explain to you how the ship works." He declared.

"That's a good idea, Sulu!" Uhura agreed excitedly turning to me and placing her hand on my arm, "You will love Scotty. He is a bit…intense sometimes, but he is the most knowledgeable engineer I have ever met."

I nodded absently and watched the thick swirls that lazily spun in my bowl. "Everything OK over there?" Came the Capitan's voice from across the table. I looked up and gave the best dead smile I could manage.

"Uh huh." He said slowly looking at Uhura and Sulu with a squint. "Well," he continued in a lighter tone, "I don't know about any of you, but I could use a stiff drink. I'm heading down to the Officer's Lounge on 2 should any of you want to join me." Everyone got up, but I sat in my chair debating if I wanted to go. A bout of excessive drinking sounded really good right then. As if to settle my internal debate, the Capitan leaned in close from behind until his lips were brushing my ear. "That was an option for them, but not for you. You look like you need a drink worse than me."

He had no idea.


	9. Chapter 9 Altered State of Being

**Chapter 9- Altered State of Being**

Everyone at the dinner took Capitan Kirk up on his invitation. He ordered the computer to lower the lights in the somewhat small room and start playing music that was happy. Classical music began drifting down from the ceiling and he shook his head. "No, no. Pick a popular dance tune from the late 20th or early 21rst century."

There was a momentary lapse before a hysterically familiar tune began to play. "Seriously?!" I laughed.

"_Young man there's no need to feel down, I said young man pick yourself off the ground, I said young man 'cause your in a new town, There's no need to be un-hap-py."_

Capitan Kirk began pouring drinks for everyone while he bobbed his head. "It has a nice beat." He commented. "Romulan Ale?" He offered gesturing to a row of glasses that contained a blue liquid.

"Bailey's, straight up." I said with a smile.

"_It's fun to stay at the Y-M-C-A!"_

"Hard liquor?" He asked with a look of pleasant surprise before turning to the replicator and returning with my favorite caramel colored cordial.

"Go hard or go home." I answered with a smile. "You might as well make a few more while you are back there." He raised his eyebrows and laughed, but did as I requested.

Uhura seemed to particularly enjoy disco and she gracefully made her way across the small room and asked Sulu and Chekov to dance. They all enjoyed the music, but I was drawn to the intense look that overcame Spock's countenance as he watched them. For just one second something like anger, frustration, or jealousy flashed in his eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it came. I wondered what that could possibly be about, but was distracted by the Capitan.

He passed out glasses to everyone but Spock who politely declined. He raised his glass in a toast and said, "To our new friend. May you find answers before the Romulans find you." I was unsure what that meant, but everyone else laughed, so I assumed it wasn't an insult.

I downed my first glass fairly quickly. "You look like you may have done that before." Sulu said with a smile. He had a friendly face and I found myself instantly liking him despite his indiscretion at the dinner table earlier.

"I did go to college," I reminded him, "you kind of end up minoring in drinking along the way. Doubly so if you go into medicine or law. That is the rule."

"Vhy is that?" Chekov inquired taking a long hit of his ale.

"Because in medicine you are constantly surrounded by disease and death, and lawyers have to read so much boring litigation they want to kill themselves. By the way, shouldn't you be drinking vodka…or gasoline?" I asked puzzled.

He smiled, but looked confused. "Vhy vould I drink petrol?"

"Because when I was in Russia, the people drank vodka for breakfast and if they ran out they drank gasoline. There is a reason people in my time had a healthy respect for Russians, they were widely considered the toughest bastards on the planet, second only to Ukrainians." I polished off my second glass and started to feel a little light headed. "Scratch that," I added putting down my empty glass, "Russians were probably third, right behind Shaolin monks."

"You might want to slow down," Capitan Kirk warned gesturing to my empty glasses, "you know that the ship has a pressurized atmosphere, it isn't like drinking on Earth." I looked at the melting ice in the glasses and remembered the time I dared to drink on an airplane, After one little bottle I almost couldn't get myself off the plane. I was the world's cheapest date. On terra firma I could have knocked back at least four glasses, but now I was starting to think this would all end badly if I kept it up.

"Och!" came a voice by the doorway. I turned to see a man with blondish hair in a red uniform. "Ah see you paid no mind to inviting me to your little shindig!"

"Scotty!" The Capitan yelled while raising his glass. The man saluted with a smile and promptly made his way behind the bar and began rifling through the storage cabinet for his preferred drink.

"Spock," I called to the man standing quietly against the wall, "why don't you be sociable and have a drink?" I was trying really hard not to slur my words, but ended up doing so anyway.

"Are you mad, lass?!" Scotty asked standing up behind the bar. "Vulcans don't get fannied off the alcohol. Poor buggers."

I turned to Spock astonished. "You can't get drunk?" He slowly shook his head no and I added, "Bummer, I bet you could tear it up on Dance Dance Revolution if I got a few drinks in you." Chekov and Sulu high fived each other in appreciation. Was it possible they knew what that was?! I could definitely see both of them playing it for hours on their off time. My money was on Sulu.

"Um, Scotty," Capitan Kirk said in a low voice as he leaned on the bar, "remember a few days ago when I asked you to boost the power to the tractor beam?"

"Aye," he replied taking a hit straight out of a bottle, "and I told you I couldn't maintain power to the shields and the beam. I thought you were daft to drop the shields. I just knew we were going to get our arses blown off by the Klingons good and proper."

"Yeah well," he looked down and scratched the back of his neck before gesturing in my direction, "that was the really important cargo we were after." He was almost mumbling, and I should have been angry, but my brain was swimming in booze and I could barely keep up.

"Ohhh!" He said with wide eyes. "Aye? Tell me your name, lass. Is it sweet?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but froze. I sat looking down at the bar with an ever increasing sense of terror. I knew that the alcohol could not be to blame, it should come as easy as breathing, yet all I could picture were fuzzy strands of thought. "Co…sm…ey." I looked up panicked at Scotty who was tilting his head and trying to make sense of my incoherent rambling. "I don't remember," I whispered. "I know my last name was Irish. I think I had two last names, actually. I remember it being really long to write." Scotty looked at Capitan Kirk who just shrugged. I looked at him too and asked, "Why can't I remember my own name for Christ sake?"

"Dr. McCoy told us that this might happen." He said quietly. "He said you were damn lucky to survive at all, and he had hoped that everything would turn out OK if you had enough time, but it was a possibility that some of your memory would be permanently lost." I sat quietly on the stool and contemplated not only losing my connection with my past, but now also dealing with gaps in the memories I did have. I imagined my brain looking like Swiss cheese and it was almost more than I could endure. "We asked the crew not to engage or push too hard, Bones thought it would come back slowly and naturally if we just let you be." He continued in a sad tone as though all hope were lost.

"Well," I sighed after some time, "I do, for whatever reason, remember a lot of my training. And from what I know of amnesic states, I know that more often than not they spontaneously resolve as Dr. McCoy had indicated. I have to believe that any blind spots I encounter will eventually come back."

The coldness of logic was both bracing and comforting. I had at least a little certainty and that allowed me to face the uphill battle with a little more grace than I could have mustered on my own. Still, I couldn't help but think of how far I had fallen. I was once on the other side of the desk, doling out diagnoses and estimating recovery times along with the path of prognosis; now, I had become one of them. The doctor was now the patient and I absolutely hated it.

"I guess ve vill just call you 'doctor' until you can remember vhat it vas, then. It vas a title you earned after all." Chekov stated raising his glass.

"Aye," Scotty said with steely nerves, "I'll drink to that."


	10. Chapter 10 Persistence of Memory

**Chapter 10- Persistence of Memory**

I didn't remember making the trip from deck 2 to my room, but that was where I woke up. All in all it was a pretty good time considering I discovered my head was full of holes. If there ever was a next time, I would keep Capitan Kirk's advice in mind of going slow on the hooch. I simply felt terrible. Not exactly a hangover, but I felt like a sponge that had been wrung out.

I lay there in the dark recalling the good time had by all, well most anyway. Chekov showed me how to program the computer like a juke box and I made a playlist of songs from the time I could last remember. Techno, dance, rap, a nice sampling of the landscape of fun to be had in clubs. Uhura danced most the night away with various partners including myself when I taught her the Macarena, which on the planet Earth I would never in a million years admit to knowing. I would have taught them how to do the Electric Slide if the room was big enough.

Uhura was right, Scotty was a riot. I played "Chelsea Dagger" by the Fratellis for him and his face lit up when I told him the band was Scottish. He danced like a madman and everyone in the room cheered him on. Well, almost everyone. Since his arrival, Spock held tight to the wall and never moved a muscle except to occasionally frown and declare the whole scene "Most undignified." Still, there was a time or two that I caught him ever so slightly nodding his head to the beat of the music. He could pretend to be strictly business all he liked, he couldn't deny the primal human in him that had to move to a strong rhythm. It was what our ancestors did as they danced around fires and it was a heritage we still carried to this day.

I slowly got out of bed. I was wide awake and the computer said it was 5:32am. Despite my previous uncertainty, I was warming to the computer. It was the source of apparently unlimited information and most importantly, the keeper of my link to my world as I knew it.

I was happy to learn that both the Capitan and Scotty were apparently pop culture addicts since they had taken a class in Earth History at the Academy. On Saturday nights, the two would meet and watch a television program or movie from antiquity. They found the perspective of pre-space civilization humorous, especially those that dealt with what early humans imagined space travel would be like. Their tastes were surprisingly normal for young men: they were particularly drawn to sci-fi and superhero movies. I laughed softly to myself; they reminded me of 10 year old boys. I promised to join them on their next viewing to screen "The Breakfast Club." I assured them they could not rightfully call themselves pop culture aficionados until they both saw and appreciated a John Hughes film.

I paced the room for a few minutes before settling on exploring the ship. I was almost certain to get lost, but at least it would occupy my time. I decided to first stop in the cafeteria and have a cup of coffee while staring off into nothingness through the massive bay window that formed the furthest wall. I confidently ordered the turbolift to deck 10 and felt a moment of pride when it began to move. I was starting to get the hang of this.

I arrived in an orderly fashion and gathered my coffee as well as a muffin from the person on duty behind the counter. I turned to pick a seat and was surprised to see a familiar figure sitting by the window. He was partially obscured in the shadow cast by the dimmed lights, but I could just make out a pointed ear on the head that was turned and gazing out the window. I approached quietly and asked, "May I?"

He turned to me and then surveyed the otherwise empty room. "You may sit wherever you wish if that is what you are inquiring." He replied somewhat confused.

I shook my head and put my items down. "I didn't expect to see you here. Didn't you sleep last night?"

"I slept as much as required." He said simply.

"I think I am getting better at using your technology," I said excitedly, "I can use the computer interface for information and I used the lift here without getting lost!"

He scanned my face for a second before dryly stating, "An accomplishment."

"OK, Spock," I sighed with slumped shoulders, "I know that you probably mastered these things at 3 months old, but it kind of is a big deal for me. Just for once try to put yourself in my position and imagine how it feels to have to start all over again."

His eyes fell to the table momentarily. "If it was difficult for you to integrate, then I recognize your success. But you are at an advantage over counterparts that came even 30 years before you. You came from the start of the technological age where your civilization began to rely on computers, although primitive, in almost every aspect. I believe you had a portable device with you."

"My cell phone!" I gasped. "Which reminds me, where are my clothes and belongings? I haven't seen them since I got here."

"They have been cataloged and are currently being analyzed in one of the science departments. Your possessions will be returned to you as we found them soon." He assured.

"What information can you possibly hope to glean from my clothes?" I asked with a smile. "The cell phone I get, being 'primitive' it is a wonder we lowly humans got on at all, but my clothes?"

"All information will be transmitted to Starfleet for enhanced records on your time period." He droned. "The composition and style of your clothing will add more data to the acceptable range of dress for a female of your age."

I didn't bother to reply. It was obvious he had his course plotted and there was nothing I could do to deter him from it. I was jolted by his next casual observation. "It appears you have been pair bonded to a mate." I just stared at him wide eyed and he gestured to my left hand. "You are wearing a metal ring on the finger that in human custom is reserved for indication of pair bonding. Am I incorrect?"

I looked down at my ring finger and noted the dull grey band covered in scratches that circled it. I had worn it for so many years it felt natural and I didn't even feel it. I took it off and slowly turned it, feeling angry that I could not remember who had the matching ring. Why did it seem I had developed a mental block for the most important things in my life while wasting brain cells on trivial information such as song titles?

"I was married," I whispered, "but I can't remember who he was. All that comes to me are green eyes and the way he made me laugh." I was now a widow, but did I even have the right to call myself that? So much time had passed and it wasn't like he left me during our natural lifetimes. I had somehow cheated death out of almost three lifespans and for that I felt tremendous guilt.

"Would it have been possible for him to have found another mate, or would your custom disallow the possibility?" he asked quietly.

I continued to rotate the ring slowly and smiled. "I hope he did, he deserved to be happy. I would hate to think that he waited for me because that day would have never came for him and he would have died alone."

"Is it difficult for you to contemplate the loss of your mate?" He continued, his low voice now barely a whisper.

I put the ring back on and looked up at him. "No," I admitted honestly, "hundreds of years separate me from my life. I just have to accept the fact that everything familiar is long gone and be thankful that the memory I do have of him is a positive one. I must have been very happy at the time."

He nodded solemnly and commented, "That would be a logical decision."

"But it doesn't make living with this deficit any easier." I pointed out. "It seems like I have no clue of what I am missing until someone says something. That is incredibly frustrating."

He leaned forward and asked, "What do you mean, Doctor?"

"Like just now," I explained, "I had completely forgotten I even had clothing or possessions until you said something about it. I didn't even notice the ring on my finger or realize that I couldn't remember my name until Scotty asked me what it was. These are huge oversights that are deeply disturbing to me. How do you just forget things like that?"

"The loss you are experiencing can be explained by the neural pathway disruption you have sustained. But in all the examples you have given, I have noted an interesting feature. Doctor, would it not be correct to say that memory is not one consolidated process, but a synthesis of subsets of information from various sources?" He wore an intense look that I had never seen, but it indicated he was on to something.

"Right." I concurred. "Memory is stored in many modalities and places within the brain and regenerated as a whole experience when called up."

"In each case of your memory failures, a prompt was required to access another aspect of the detail in question." He said as excited as a Vulcan would allow himself to be, "For example, the physical object of the body adornment served as a reference to the symbol of mate, allowing you to recall both visual and emotional aspects relating to him."

I sat staring at him in wonder. I should have known that! People who cannot come up with names of objects upon sight can often do so if they touch the object, accessing a different mode of memory.

His eyes again sparkled and he added, "Perhaps your recovery will rely on more stimulation, not less as Dr. McCoy incorrectly theorized. I will alert the Capitan at once."


	11. Chapter 11 The Elephant in the Room

**Chapter 11- The Elephant in the Room**

I was told by Spock to wait in my quarters until he came for me. I had this disturbing sense of foreboding like I was waiting in the hall to see the principal after being caught doing something. At first I paced, but it seemed as though Spock had planned on taking his sweet time, so I sat on the bed and decided to do some research.

"Computer," I called, "access records for the American baseball team Chicago Cubs. Did they ever win a World Series after 2009?" I laughed maniacally when the woman's voice told me they had made 17 appearances in the playoffs, but had yet to win. "Damn that was one strong goat curse." I muttered.

I spent more time researching other miscellaneous things as they came to mind including Romulans and Vulcans. Hours must have passed and my brain was fatigued from the information marathon. I began to wonder if Spock had forgotten about me and I thought about leaving, but something told me to stay put. I decided instead to catch up on one of my favorite guilty pleasures, a television program called Heroes. It normally wouldn't be my kind of a show, but the possibility of humans having superhuman powers intrigued me. It really was all about trying to become something better than you were, and that was what resonated for me. I particularly identified with Peter Petrelli, he and I seemed to have the same drive.

I settled back and picked up where I left off, immediately engrossed in the ever twisting story and very pleased there were no commercials to break my concentration. I heard the door beep and I yelled for the person to enter, but never took my eyes off the screen. The resident archvillian Sylar had just cornered another individual with powers. The dramatic music swelled in the background indicating impending doom and he slowly lifted his hand to the victim's face as the dentist drill sound effect screeched, I cringed. A neat line was torn across the poor girl's forehead and blood poured into her eyes as the camera panned back to Sylar to capture his evil glare and the twisted pleasure the act of murder gave him.

"A most unusual death ritual." Spock commented.

"Well, he is a very unusual guy, but you really have to watch the show from the beginning to understand it. It actually makes sense in a twisted kind of way." I replied as the scene ended and the next began.

"I will trust your assessment, Doctor. I have no desire to comprehend the motive of a fictional character who behaves in such an appalling manner. Now, if you will follow me to the bridge." He instructed.

I did tag along a few steps behind, but gleefully stated, "Oh no, you don't get to play that game anymore. I have done some research on your culture and it seems you have been holding out on me."

He didn't turn around to reply, "In what way have I been dishonest?" The tone of his voice indicated admission rather than a question and I smiled. He had been caught red handed.

"According to the computer, your people are actually far more emotional and violent than humans ever were. You pretend to be all stoic in order to keep those impulses in check. Quite a feat if you ask me, but it seems packing up and leaving your planet was the best thing humans could have done. We may appear to be overly reliant on sentiment, but in reality we may have naturally struck a balance, something the Vulcans have not fully achieved. So," I continued entering the lift, "no more looking down your nose in a 'holier than thou' manner as if we humans are one step above flinging poo at each other. I am on to you."

"Vulcans have perfected the art of reason far beyond what humans have accomplished." He retorted calmly. "But it is not for lack of mental capacity. Humans are simply often blinded to the logical course of action because of unfounded and often conflicting emotions. Vulcans strive for clarity and we have achieved this by focusing on fact and actively suppressing all other unwelcome and unhelpful responses."

"It is a shame then." I observed. "That sounds like a life only half lived."

"Stop the lift." He commanded and it obeyed. He turned to me and asked, "How do you mean?"

I was momentarily frightened at being trapped in a small space with a man who was capable of god knows what. If what the computer said was correct, he may have been cool on the exterior, but boiling with anger on the inside. I wondered how strong his restraint was, but in all reality didn't want to find out.

"I am not insulting you or your customs," I started cautiously trying to deescalate the situation, "all I am saying is it is unhealthy and not very realistic to completely choose one side over another. From what I have seen, no one can elucidate a problem to its bare essence using logic the way you can. To watch you work is a thing of beauty, really. But to absolutely discount the value of anything emotional is to your detriment. Emotions can be incredibly messy and they do not always make sense, but they add such a richness and texture to experiences that logic tends to drain of all color. If properly kept in check, they can be incredibly useful."

He stood with his hands behind his back, but his eyes were oddly downcast as though he were deep in thought. I could tell that was not entirely it, though.

"Like right now," I ventured, "If I were using pure logic I would compare your current pattern of behavior to previous experiences of you and I would conclude that there was no significant change. But the emotional part is telling me there is more than the eye can see. I don't know what that something is, but all I know is that there is more to you and right now you are deeply bothered by it."

"Continue to the bridge." He said sharply and the lift began to move. He faced forward and made no attempt to acknowledge my presence. Once again I had invaded his defenses and he was pulling back, but I would allow him his personal space. Unlike before, this time I knew he would eventually come back. He was not a man to run away from frightening experiences, how could he have otherwise made it to second in command if he didn't have the stomach to make tough decisions? Still, I had to be mindful not to push him beyond his limits.

The lift opened and we exited into the central command center just in time to see a rather large spaceship on the enormous view screen at the front of the ship. Spock hastily made way to a set of panels behind Capitan Kirk's chair as I asked breathlessly, "What the hell is that?"

Everyone on the crew seemed tense and on high alert, but Capitan Kirk appeared to view it as nothing more than a minor inconvenience. He turned in his chair to face me with a disturbing smile. "That is a Romulan Bird of Prey. I'll give you three guesses as to what they want."


	12. Chapter 12 Fight or Flight

**Chapter 12- Fight or Flight**

I stood motionless near Uhura gaping in wonder at the fierce looking spaceship on the screen. It looked like it was built to kill and I hoped I had not inadvertently attracted danger to the people on the ship. They had all been extraordinarily kind to me and I would hate to be the death of them.

"Capitan," Spock called, "we have received an incoming hail from the Romulans."

"On screen." Capitan Kirk sighed as he turned to face the giant wall.

The screen was filled with an image of a man's head. I swooned at his countenance, it was all so familiar. The harsh, cruel glare, the menacing facial tattoos that were outlined in black, and the overall blanket of oppression that permeated the screen. I closed my eyes as my heart pounded. I remembered him, but most of all I remembered an overwhelming sense of fear and dread. I instinctively backed away until I bumped into Uhura's chair as if he could somehow reach through the screen and grab me.

Uhura stood and grabbed me by the shoulders, temporarily blocking my view of the awful man that loomed godlike. "Are you ok?" She asked, but she sounded miles away due to the blood rushing in my ears. Spock quickly glanced towards us, but retrained his focus on the screen and stood at the ready.

"Capitan," the man on screen nearly hissed, "I believe you have stolen something that belongs to us. We want it back."

I could just see Capitan Kirk under Uhura's arm. He casually swiveled back and forth in his chair while doodling circles on the control panel with his finger. "Yeah, about that…" His tone was playfully mocking and the man on screen did not appear to appreciate it. "I would really love to and all, except for the fact that you were clearly in violation of the Federation treaty by being in the neutral zone. Besides, you scuttled your prize when the Klingons came to kick your ass; it wasn't like we beamed on board your ship and took her. You know what they say, finders keepers."

"You will return the human to us!" He yelled. "This is our only offer for diplomacy. Take it now or prepare for battle!"

The screen went black and Capitan Kirk stopped twisting in his chair. Whatever sense of bravado he may have felt was replaced by steely determination and his voice reflected it.

"Mr. Sulu, raise the shields and ready on my order, warp 8. Mr. Chekov, plot a course for the nearest habited zone."

"Capitan, the nearest zone vould be Klingon airspace." He warned after consulting with his computer screen.

"We will deal with that later, Mr. Chekov." He replied, "Just do it."

Just then the entire ship rocked violently and I reflexively squatted and covered my head while Uhura resumed her position and adjusted her earpiece. The noise was unbelievable, but the crew didn't seem to be bothered by it. I suddenly remembered why I hated flying in airplanes, the slightest turbulence made me think the plane was crashing and I couldn't bear the thought of hurtling toward the ground at 600 miles an hour trapped in a metal tube. At least if I were to die now, it would be sudden as my body would be sucked out into space through the gaping hole in the fuselage. I would only have a split second of full consciousness at best.

"Damage report, Mr. Spock." The Capitan barked.

"Shields down 32% and minor damage is reported on decks 20-23." He said placidly.

"Damn." He muttered to himself. "Mr. Sulu, I think it is time to get moving."

"Negative, Sir." Sulu said shaking his head. "There isn't enough power to maintain shields and full thrust."

"Goddamn!" he said more exasperated. "Bridge to engine room!"

"Aye, Capitan!" came Scotty's voice from an unknown location.

"Scotty, you have to work some magic for me. We have to get out of here in a hurry." He instructed with a friendly voice.

"Ach, more power?" He asked incredulously, "Want me to pull it out my arse, Capitan?"

"Grab your ankles and smile then because we need a lot." He replied tersely.

"That I will. Give me 20 seconds and all will be bonnie." He drawled while banging on something metal in the background.

The ship shook again and on the Capitan's orders, Spock put up an image of the Romulan vessel lobbing a volley of red lasers toward us. Once more the ship trembled violently and most of the lights went out while the crew struggled to maintain their footing.

"Scotty…" Capitan Kirk called with rising tension in his voice.

"Just aboot there." He answered.

"Scotty…" The Capitan said with a little more urgency.

"Aye! You are full go!"

"Hit it, Mr. Sulu!" He commanded.

In a fraction of a second, the enemy ship receded in a blur of light in the large viewing screen. After a few minutes, the light refocused into familiar tiny points against the black field and the crew issued a collective sigh.

"Bridge to Scotty." Capitan Kirk called while again swiveling and letting his head fall back with a thud on his chair.

"Aye!" Scotty answered somewhat breathless. It sounded like he had just run a marathon.

"Great job, my friend. Score yet another amazing save for Scotty and his merry band of intrepid engineers." He said with a great measure of sincerity that I found touching.

Over the intercom I could hear the muffled sound of people celebrating before Scotty replied, "Cheers! Wanna know how we managed, Capitan?"

Capitan Kirk laughed heartily and said, "Knowing how you operate, Scotty, it is probably best you not tell me and just fix whatever you broke to make it happen. Dispatch teams to repair the damage to the ship and report to the bridge at your earliest convenience. Kirk out."

"How are you?" Uhura asked placing her hand gently on my shoulder as I sat slumped next to her chair. I looked up at her and noted the genuine concern on her face, but I was completely numb. I was distracted by another pair of legs encroaching on my field of vision and I followed them up to the Capitan's face, which appeared perversely amused considering we had all been just millimeters away from total annihilation.

"Well," he said with a widening smirk as he placed his hands on his hips, "it appears you may be even more important than we thought. They must be desperate if they have the balls to attack a Federation ship."

"Why didn't you shoot back?" I asked quietly.

"Because I didn't want to start another war," he explained, "and besides, I have a better idea."

I thought I saw Spock roll his eyes, but that seemed an impossibly human reaction for him in retrospect. "Won't they chase you?" I asked looking back at the Capitan.

He chuckled and folded his arms across his chest. "Not here. They may have the nerve to fire on a Federation peacekeeping vessel, but they would be insane to challenge the Klingons. At least that is what I am counting on."

"Are you friends with the Klingons?" I inquired.

He scratched the back of his neck nervously and his blue eyes sparkled mischievously. "Not in so many words, exactly. The Klingons are more or less mercenaries, but I have a plan."

This time I was certain I witnessed Spock sigh as though he badly wanted to offer a dissenting opinion, but knew doing so would be a waste of effort. "Thank you, Capitan Kirk." I said standing on wobbly legs to shake his hand. He took it, but looked confused. "You could have just turned me over," I reasoned, "instead you and the crew risked your lives to protect me. Believe me, I appreciate it; I am just not sure I am worth it."

His smile was warm and reassuring. "Oh, you are most definitely worth it if the Romulans would tempt fate like they have. I don't know why they want you so badly, but it is clear we are now holding a trump card."

"Capitan," Sulu alerted, "we have a fleet of D7 cruisers closing in fast. Raise shields?"

"Negative, Mr. Sulu." He responded as he turned to look at the screen that displayed four ships in tight formation. "It looks like the welcoming committee has arrived."


	13. Chapter 13 Sleeping with the Enemy

**Chapter 13- Sleeping with the Enemy**

"Capitan," Spock said sounding strangely bored considering the uncertain circumstances, "we have received a hail from the Klingons."

"Alright," Capitan Kirk said exhaling deeply, "here we go. Let's see what we got, Mr. Spock."

I blinked twice when a decidedly alien looking being came on screen. The being was a dark shade of brown with long and unruly hair. Deep wavy ridges rested above menacing eyes and the parted lips revealed jagged, pointed teeth. Everything about it looked feral and I suddenly understood Spock's earlier reticence.

"Die immediately and decay." The being growled in a masculine voice. "State your name and business with the Klingon Empire."

Uhura noticed my horrified reaction and quietly explained, "Don't worry, that is just their greeting." I didn't know about anyone else, but I felt less than settled by it.

"James T. Kirk, Capitan of the starship Enterprise." He replied in a neutral voice. "I came seeking temporary refuge."

The being seemed to sneer and ask, "And why should we allow a coward who runs from battle seek safety in our domain?"

Kirk nodded his head and said, "As you know, the Federation does not engage in battle unless absolutely necessary. Besides, I believe we have a common annoyance in the Romulans, which attacked my ship."

The being bared his teeth and let out a guttural noise that sent chills up my spine. "Romulans!" He spat followed by what I could only assume to be some kind of profanity judging by the intense hatred on his face.

"Exactly," the Capitan said with a smile, "we pose no threat to you. In fact, I propose a trade."

The being seemed to calm down and suspiciously asked, "What kind of exchange do you offer?"

"Send an away team of intelligence offers to my ship and I will give you 10 cases of premium Romulan ale. A pretty good haul for an hour's work." He baited. The wild looking man seemed to consider the deal and finally agreed. "It is a deal then. I will meet you in the transporter room." He declared.

Once the screen went black, he turned towards us with a determined look as though he worried his plan might not be such a good idea after all. "Mr. Spock, Doctor, come with me. Mr. Sulu, you have the com until Scotty arrives."

"Aye, Sir!" Sulu replied getting up from his chair and taking the big seat in the middle of the room while trying to suppress a smile.

I followed the two men into the lift and as it descended, asked "Capitan, why did you ask me to go?"

He turned to me absentmindedly and said, "You can call me Jim. Really, this Capitan stuff from you is unnecessary. It makes me feel old or something. Anyway, I didn't think you had seen the transporters in action. You will probably find it interesting." I nodded and he quickly turned to me and added, "Oh, and when the Klingons arrive try your best not to stare at them. I know you probably haven't seen anything like them before, but they are easy to piss off and I am walking on eggshells as it is here." I again agreed and he once more turned to say, "One more thing: they smell as bad as they look, so be forewarned and just pretend that you didn't notice." I was beginning to wonder if seeing the transporters was actually worth the hassle.

We exited the lift in what looked to be a service shaft that contained one console which a person in a red uniform occupied and a large circular platform. On the platform, a series of black circles were symmetrically placed on the floor. "Whenever you are ready." Jim said to the man at the console.

"Aye, Capitan. Locking in the signal now." He replied.

I watched in amazement as a slow shimmering column appeared in each of the circles. The individual dots began to coalesce into solid matter as the bodies of human figures appeared out of nowhere.

_It was like a giant replicator!_

After they had sufficiently materialized, Jim stepped forward and greeted what appeared to be the leader we had seen on the jumbo screen. I looked at my feet and wiggled my nose as the olfactory assault came full force. They smelled overwhelmingly like old sweat socks and urine. I wanted nothing more than to cover my nose, but I remembered Jim's warning and I opted to just stop breathing for as long as I could. I thought back to the plate of worms and it all made perfect sense.

He instructed the man in the red uniform to requisition 10 cases of ale and send it to the Klingon ship before leading the delegation of three Klingons to the lift. I was the last to enter and while they were not looking, I took a deep breath and held it for the long journey back to the bridge.

Upon arrival, Scotty turned in the big chair to see the motley crew consisting of three Klingons, a Vulcan, and two humans that were both green with nausea. He seemed so out of place slumped in the chair with his arms folded and what looked to be grease smudged on his face and staining his red uniform. We all filed into a small room off the command center and took seats around what looked like a conference table. The Klingons looked as uncomfortable as we felt. I wondered if we smelled bad to them too.

"You have honored your end of the deal. What do you want from us?" The leader asked impatiently.

"We have a bit of a mystery on our hands regarding her." He said gesturing toward me. "What do you know about Romulan technology regarding temporal mechanics?"

The leader scowled at me before answering. "Our sources inform us that the Romulans have no such technology, but it was achieved by an accident aboard one of their Birds of Prey when a malfunction occurred with the antimatter drive. They are currently attempting to replicate the error."

Jim nodded thoughtfully. "One of your squadrons recently attacked a Romulan vessel in the neutral zone. Did you know she was on board?"

The grizzly man slowly nodded. "We knew of the female human, but she was of no concern to us. An acceptable casualty." I looked up sharply at him, but he appeared absolutely unapologetic.

"Do you know what the Romulans intended to do with her?" Spock asked.

"We do not know their purposes." He said simply.

"Alright," Jim said with a satisfied sigh, "at least we know more than we did before. Thank you for coming and enjoy your ale." He said as everyone stood up.

The leader struck his chest and muttered "Nuqjatlh." Although it sounded like nonsense to me, I assumed it meant something like goodbye. At least that was what I hoped it meant. In comparison to their so called greeting, it probably roughly translated to 'I will now kill you and drink your blood.'

I was dreading the trip back to the transporter room, but to my infinite delight, Jim ordered Chekov to escort them. The poor navigator appeared distressed and wanted to object, but knew he couldn't. He dutifully rose from his seat and swallowed hard as he was entombed with the Klingons by the confines of the lift. It was like watching a dead man walking to his execution. As bad as I felt for him, I was glad it wasn't me. As soon as the lift closed, Jim exhaled deeply and rubbed his temples. "Christ, I thought I was going to puke in there."

"Indeed," Spock surprisingly agreed, "I too found it a challenge to suppress the gag reflex. Their unpleasant personal aroma has effectively eradicated my desire for the evening meal."

"Well, at least it wasn't all for nothing. It cost me 10 cases of contraband liquor, but we got some useful information." He summed up as he looked at me. "We now know that you were a complete accident. The question is, why would they bother to bring anyone back from Earth? Better yet, why did they bother placing you in cryogenic stasis? That makes no sense." He chewed his bottom lip and thought for a minute before turning to Spock. "Come on, Science Officer! Aren't you supposed to have answers for me?"

"I have been pondering that myself, Capitan." Spock answered resuming his rigid stance. "It would be illogical to use such crude methods of preservation, one would raise the chances of killing the very organism one wishes to save. And as to why the Romulans would be interested in kidnapping a human from antiquity, I am uncertain."

Jim raised his eyebrows and sarcastically said, "Gee, very enlightening Commander. Thank you." He realized he was being a bit too harsh on his subordinate, and he followed up by asking in a softer voice, "Now how do we go about finding the answers?"

"If I am correct," Spock replied seemingly not at all disturbed by the former rebuke, "my theory was sound. While you were conversing with the Romulan, the doctor experienced what can only be called an epiphany." He turned slightly to me and continued. "It would seem the image of the Romulan was sufficient stimulation for you to recall previously inaccessible information."

"Really?" Jim asked looking from Spock to me. "Well then, let's find out what's in there." He exclaimed pointing to my head.

I felt the panic grip my chest like a vice when I thought about the intensity of the experience. Seeing the tattooed man was like looking Death in the face and I was in no hurry to explore that dark recess.

"If I may, Capitan," Spock said in a low voice, "it appeared to have a strongly unfavorable impact on her psychological wellbeing. Might I suggest delaying the exploration and requesting the presence of Dr. McCoy in the event she require medical assistance?"

"Oh," Jim said suddenly becoming aware of his brashness, "of course. That is a reasonable course of action. Yes, we will…certainly do that. Scotty!" He called quickly turning on his heel, "you are relieved."

"Ocht! Its aboot time." He complained. "Ah can't wait to get doon below to the engines. It smells fair better than here." He pinched his nose for effect and headed for the lift. I followed him and as the door closed, I glanced to Spock with a sincerely grateful expression on my face. He blinked slowly and gave an almost imperceptible nod before resuming his duties.


	14. Chapter 14 The Gift of Madness

**Chapter 14- The Gift of Madness**

I made a mental note in the lift to show my appreciation to the Vulcan for being oddly more sensitive to the suffering of another than his human counterpart. My eyes lit up when I thought of just the thing. It had long been the source of frustration and near insanity for humans, but he might find it amusing. Now how to wish it into existence….

I returned to my quarters and hoped my plan would work. If they didn't have connectivity of devices in this age, I would be up the creek. I asked the computer to show me a Rubik's Cube and crossed my fingers when I asked if the object could be recreated via the replicator. I almost shouted for joy when I saw the small particles congeal into the familiar multicolored cube in the slot.

The joy was short lived, however, as I was still on edge from seeing the tattooed man. Try as I might to push him out of my mind, the memory was strong and it permanently stained my consciousness. I paced the floor, mindlessly twisting the cube into a jumbled mess debating what I should do. I knew that avoidance was not helpful or healthy. In order to reclaim who I was, I had to exorcise the ghosts which lie within, but the fear was intense and I wanted nothing more than to disavow all knowledge of anything related to him. Spock's astute observation and quick thinking bought me some time, but when it all came down to it, I felt as though I were just being selfish.

_Capitan Kirk and his crew rescued you twice at risk of danger to themselves. It is the least you can do for him, you owe him that much._

It was true. I sat at the desk by the door and held my head in my hands. I knew I would have to pony up and dive into the dark residue that clogged my mind, but it was like putting your hand in a box not knowing if it contained hot coals, a poisonous snake, or broken glass. I wasn't sure what kind of pain to expect, but I knew it would be unpleasant to say the least.

The door beeped and I felt a wave of relief. It afforded me a viable excuse to avoid the task at hand. It wasn't my fault I had a visitor! After all, doors have to be answered don't they? I went to the door and it slid open to reveal Spock holding a white box.

"For me?" I asked surprised.

"It contains your personal effects." He replied extending it to me.

I took the box in one arm, careful to keep the toy hidden and dropped it on the desk.

"Spock!" I called as he had already turned back to the turbolifts, "Come back, I have something for you." When he was sufficiently close, I grabbed his wrist and turned his hand upwards to place the cube in his palm. "This is for you, a little thank you gift."

He looked down at the jumbled colored squares, his face completely immobile before finally asking, "A gift?" He seemed somewhat confused.

"The computer didn't mention gift giving as a part of your culture, but it didn't explicitly prohibit it either." I explained. "Sometimes humans give each other things they think the other will enjoy."

"I am aware of the custom, Doctor, but it is hardly required." He replied finally looking at me. I could just see it in his eyes, he was hoping to Surak I wouldn't mention the day's events. I resolved to oblige him because I really didn't want to relive it either.

"Don't ruin the moment, Spock. Just gracefully accept it as a gesture of friendship." I instructed kindly.

He looked back at the cube still in his hand and said, "Very well, then. I accept your gift. But may I inquire as to the nature of the object is so I may better appreciate it?"

"It is a puzzle," I answered picking it up and turning it a few times to demonstrate, "the object is to have one color on each side."

I handed it back to him and he studied it carefully before twisting it quickly in various directions until he had four red squares together. His eyes absolutely exploded with joy, although his mouth twitched only slightly. "A logic puzzle." He concluded amused. "I was not aware humans enjoyed such activities."

"I wouldn't say enjoy," I clarified, "that puzzle has angered many over the years. But a small percentage of elite individuals have been rumored to have solved it. Good luck, and no taking it apart or peeling off the stickers." I warned.

He quietly nodded and returned to rotating the cube while he walked back to the lift. While I hoped it would provide him with at least a minimal amount of frustration, I knew that the reality was he would have it solved in 10 minutes and sitting neatly on his console on the bridge.

I opened the box Spock had brought and looked through my items. Pants, socks, a shirt, bra and panties, my lab coat, an assortment of pens, shoes; all things that I should have felt a connection with, but found myself strangely uninterested by. At the bottom of the box lay my watch and Blackberry. I was glad to see my watch, now I would know what time it was without constantly having to ask. I picked up my smart phone and sat on the bed.

I turned it over in my hands, knowing that much of my life was contained in the microchips inside. Out of habit, I touched the back arrow as I always did when I wanted it to wake up and to my shock, the screen lit up and greeted me with the familiar picture of a beach that I took while on vacation in Hawaii. I sat on the bed, scrolling through the options just as I had when I first got it, exploring each menu and searching for gold nuggets from my former life.

I missed 7 appointments. I had 6 emails and 4 voice mails, none of which could be retrieved now. Although I had a signal, it was probably just picking up on the ship's communication system. The missed calls were from the hospital and my husband. I didn't so much care about what crisis may have been going on at work, but I wanted nothing more than to hear my husband's voice again. I wondered why he had called. Did he want me to pick up milk from the store? Was he worried when I just didn't come home?

I found a picture of us together at an outdoor hockey game. We were both bundled up like Eskimos, I wearing the home team's jersey and he the opposing; I remembered it being so cold. But we both wore huge smiles, and I was sad because in the picture he wore sunglasses. I knew in a vague way who he was, but I needed to see the green eyes to be sure.

I tossed the phone aside on the bed and sighed. It all amounted to inconsequential trivia that no longer mattered. It was all so much debris floating on the surface of my shipwrecked former life. I knew that in order to properly adjust to my new reality, I had to let go of the past. But the impulse to reach back through time in an effort to grasp anything I could hold on to was strong.

_You hold the __answer deep within your own mind, consciously you've forgotten it. That's the way the human mind works, whenever something is too unpleasant or too shameful for us to entertain we reject it, we erase it from our memory. But the imprint is always there, nothing is ever really forgotten._

Reluctantly, I realized that the answers I needed were in my own head. If I were to ever make sense of what happened, I had to summon up the courage to open my eyes and look. I took a few deep breaths to try to calm myself before gently exploring the edges of the mental scab that had formed over the wound. It wasn't long before the hemorrhaging began and I found myself racing the halls in search of Dr. McCoy in a full blown panic attack.


	15. Chapter 15 The Good Doctor

**Chapter 15- The Good Doctor**

The breaths came in massive gulps and my heart was pounding so hard I could see spots dance in front of my eyes. I half ran and half stumbled out of the lift and startled many people in blue uniforms during the mad dash to the sick bay. I rounded the corner to see Dr. McCoy with his feet up on a nearby bed, reading what looked like a patient chart.

He looked up at me and his expression became hard. "Christ!" He declared sitting up and throwing aside the chart, "What the hell happened to you?" He grabbed me by the shoulders and steered me to a bed before forcing me to sit down.

"I….saw….I know…." I gasped incoherently.

He shook his head and furrowed his brow trying to make sense of my rambling, but apparently decided it was a waste of time. He sprinted away and quickly returned with that damn gun and shot me full of something I prayed was Xanax…or maybe an elephant tranquilizer.

He instructed me to lay down and I complied, but it felt like my skin was crawling off my body and my ears rang loudly. He pushed buttons on the screen by the bed and exclaimed, "You have the pulse of a racehorse. Blood pressure is way too high, you had better slow down before you give yourself a damn aneurysm."

I swallowed hard and tried my best to control my breathing, but my body rebelled and it felt like I was drowning. He leaned on the side of the bed and patted my shoulder gently. In a shockingly reassuring voice he said, "The drugs will kick in soon, hang in there. When you calm down, you can tell me what happened. Until then, just close your eyes and try to relax." His face was neutral, but his lips were drawn in a terse line across his face.

I felt bad about labeling him a flesh mechanic earlier. I saw now that although he was rough around the edges, he really did enjoy his occupation. I guessed his job was usually more like emergency medicine in which every second counted in saving a person's life; that didn't leave a lot of time for warm and fuzzy comfort. He stayed with me and as he promised, I could feel the panic subside. I was left sweaty and weak, but grateful for his intervention.

He looked up at the screen for the hundredth time and finally asked, "Better?" I nodded and he smiled. It was the first time I had ever seen him do so and I found myself forgetting all about his previous indiscretions. He could be merciful when he wanted to.

"What's up, Bones?" Came Jim's voice from the doorway. He sounded slightly winded as if he ran to the sick bay as I did. I wondered what all of the blue uniforms in the hallway thought of the sudden commotion.

"She's stable now," he reported, "but it looked like an old fashioned panic attack. I hadn't seen one of those since med school." He seemed pleased that I provided some excitement to his day.

"Was it because of what happened this morning? Seeing the Romulan?" Jim asked approaching the bed.

I nodded. "I was in my quarters and I thought maybe I could just peek at some of the things that were floating around in my head, but it was like activating some kind of switch that I couldn't turn off again. Everything just came crashing down."

Dr. McCoy narrowed his eyes and dug through the nearby cart for the hand held device that he scanned me with before. He pushed buttons on it and paused before again passing the red laser over my head. His expression grew even more intense as he mumbled, "Your neural pathways have changed significantly since the last exam."

"What did you find out?" Jim asked trying to hide his excitement and sound like a professional.

"Uh, Jim," Dr. McCoy interjected, "I don't think this is a good idea. Unless what you are looking for is a matter of galactic importance, which I doubt it is, I am going to keep her here for awhile for observation. I will call you when I discharge her."

"When will that be?" The Capitan asked somewhat disappointed.

"That would be at the moment when I call you, Jim." Dr. McCoy reiterated with an inflection of annoyance.

He nodded in agreement, but seemed unsettled. It appeared that further inquiries would be met with increasing amounts of scathing sarcasm. He may have been the Capitan of the ship, but Dr. McCoy was lord and god of deck 5 and he was obviously not to be questioned or trifled with. I remembered all of the unorthodox encounters he had with Spock and now a man I knew for a fact outranked him. Perhaps that was just how he was and everyone on board had come to accept it. Jim turned on his heel and left without another word.

He sighed as he bent to pick up his discarded chart. Suddenly he looked weary and I noticed the faint lines in his face that came from long hours or lots of worry; perhaps both. "Dr. McCoy," I said clearing my throat, "I never properly thanked you for saving my life."

He gave a quick smirk and replied, "Yeah, it was nothing. Just doing my job."

I smiled at his modesty, I didn't think he possessed any. "That is not what I heard." I countered, "From what I was told, it required a certain measure of know how and heroics on your part."

"Whoever told you that lied." He replied in a flat tone. "The truth is it took a little know how and a lot of luck. I hadn't seen anything that extensive since I was in an active war zone."

"Well, thank you just the same." I shrugged.

He nodded briskly and asked, "I know you haven't been here long, but have you ever thought about resuming your practice?" I was stunned by the question and he continued, "Oh, don't tell me it hasn't crossed your mind. People like you and I are all alike. We all got into this business because of a drive that makes us put up with all the crap and endless aggravation. Who else in their right mind would do this job?"

"It has been a little frustrating." I admitted. "To have knowledge and abilities that you know can help, but not be able to use them."

"Exactly," he said pulling a flask out of a drawer and taking a drink, "I wouldn't normally give a damn, but I have been watching you. You are dying to get back to work. Abrams told me you offered to listen to her whine about me."

"I doubt she would have said that." I challenged.

"OK, so not exactly like that," he confessed, "but that is exactly what she would do. And I have seen the way you have that pointy eared bastard on pins and needles around you. I have to respect you just for that if nothing else. If you can get under the skin of a damn Vulcan, you must have talent. I can't tell you the amount of personal pleasure it gives me to watch him squirm." He declared before taking another drink and going on. "So, what I was thinking was you could come down here and do your psych stuff for the patients. Starfleet in their infinite wisdom did not see fit to provide a counselor on board, so that little gem falls to me as the CMO. As you may tell, that isn't really a strength of mine. I am better sewing arms back onto bodies than listening to some kid whine about problems with significant others or mothers…or whatever."

"Do my psych stuff for them?" I asked laughing, "Do you want me to juggle while balancing on a ball for them too?"

He paused and looked up at me. "Can you?"

I realized he was not being serious, so I presented the next obstacle. "I am not a part of Starfleet and I am assuming I would have to be enlisted to do the job. Let me just tell you now, I have no interest in going to boot camp."

"Can't blame you there," He replied "but you let me deal with that. Now, are you ready to pick up where you left off, Doctor?"

"I think we can try." I responded.

"Great!" He said slapping his knee. "I want you down here at 0900 tomorrow."

"Am I discharged, then?" I asked apprehensively.

"Oh yeah," he waved dismissively, "there was no real reason to keep you here. I just wanted to piss Jim off. Seriously, though. Don't let him or anyone else push you too fast on what's in your head. Use your judgment and wait until you are ready. Still," he continued, "I am not going to call Jim for a few hours yet. Let him twist for awhile."

I laughed and headed for the turbolifts to get some rest before my first day of work. He really was a sadist with a wicked sense of humor.


	16. Chapter 16 Rules of Engagement

**Chapter 16- Rules of Engagement **

I reported to deck 5 at 8:55am according to my watch. Dr. McCoy handed me a bundle of blue and black clothing that looked suspiciously like the uniform he was wearing and instructed me to change in his office.

"I wouldn't think I would wear a Starfleet uniform." I admitted.

"It isn't…exactly." He replied. "The logo thing has been removed." He explained while gesturing vaguely to the left side of his chest.

_So that makes it official. _

I was a bit nervous on my first day. No real solid plans had been made regarding my actual boundaries and duties other than being told to only work within the confines of my competence. I was the type of person who craved exact delineation, particularly given my colleague's occasional tendency toward meltdown when someone didn't perform to expectation.

Furthermore, I was concerned about the timing of all of this. Given the previous day's events, was I pushing a little too hard? Despite a fear of nightmares, I actually slept well and felt energized by a renewed sense of purpose. Dr. McCoy was absolutely right when he said that people like us are driven to fix what is broken and ease pain and suffering when we see it. It was an imperative at the very core of our beings just as breathing and blinking, and when you deny those urges you end up with one very unhappy person.

I felt like a grad student again. During my training I had been called for consults to the ER to determine a patient's competency to refuse treatment, so I could well recall the chaotic rhythm of the department. What looked like madness, however, was actually a well choreographed dance and I found myself easily falling in step. Even though I spent most of my day just casually talking to people who had found themselves in need of medical attention, it felt comfortable and filled the crater within me of needing to give back in some way to the crew that had adopted me for no good reason.

It was a good thing I was not at all squeamish. The last patient of the day was an engineer who had somehow gotten his hand stuck in moving machinery. His hand was a mangled mess of flesh, blood, and bone, but I tried to keep his focus on me while Dr. McCoy repaired it amazingly well by having the injured man tell me stories about various close calls and exploits of his job. By his account, the engine room was the center of excitement on the ship and his boss, Scotty, was the best in the universe. I wasn't sure which I found more astonishing: his nearly perfectly reconstructed hand or the fact that someone would actually like their boss so much.

The procedure was over before he knew it and Dr. McCoy placed him on medical leave until further notice. The man attempted to protest, but was stopped short by a vicious warning glare from McCoy that could cut through sheet metal. It was obvious that resistance was futile, so he turned to me and smiled. "It was nice talking to you, Doc. See ya' around!" I waved goodbye and congratulated myself on a job well done. Even though this was not the kind of work I normally would do, I found it deeply satisfying.

"How was it?" Dr. McCoy called from a nearby cleaning station where he washed the blood from his hands. I thought it strange that no one on this unit wore latex gloves or splash guards to cover their eyes. Perhaps infectious disease had been eradicated in this new age, but still the germaphobe in me found it unsettling.

"I enjoyed it," I finally answered. "It seems to be a mutually beneficial arrangement. Humans respond well to attention and touch. Studies have indicated when there is more interaction between a patient and a caregiver with support and gentle casual touching, the patient recovers faster with fewer complications. They get that while I get to surreptitiously learn about new things that didn't exist in my time."

He nodded distracted. "Well, we have a go to Jesus meeting with Jim and the hobgoblin ASAP. You might want to pull that little trick out of your hat or anything else you got because I have a bad feeling about this. By the way, while that might work on humans, it will have the exact opposite effect on Vulcans. They are the galaxy's touch me nots. I don't think they like feeling in any context of the word."He opened a drawer and removed yet a different flask and drained the contents before heading off.

On the lift I wondered how many of the large number of drawers in the facility contained non-medicinal alcohol and I pondered the possibility of him having an artificial liver given as much and as often as he drank. As the lift ascended, I also thought back on my various interactions with Spock and only once did I remember touching him when I grabbed his wrist to give him the Rubik's cube. He did not flinch or protest, or give any indication at all that he found it offensive or otherwise objectionable. Then there was the elevator incident, but we were all cramped and it was uncomfortable for all species involved.

The lift opened and we exited to see Uhura covering her mouth to stifle a laugh, her eyes wide with disbelief. Sulu was shaking his head slowly while looking at Chekov, who just smiled with a startled look on his face. Spock was leaning on his console as though he were going to be ill.

"Jesus, Spock. I'm sorry." Jim said sitting sideways in his chair with one leg hanging over the arm. He turned toward Spock and shrugged his shoulders. "I didn't know what it was, it just looked like fun." He looked down to his hands that twisted the cube slowly.

Spock sighed and stood up straight, regaining his composure. "I merely wish you would have expressed interest in the puzzle before you seized it and began destroying the success I had accomplished in almost solving it."

"I know you have been working on the damn thing all day. I would have thought this would be easy for you, anyway. Don't they give these damn things to Vulcan babies at birth or something?" Jim asked tossing the cube at him.

Spock deftly caught the cube with one hand and slowly placed it on his console with a great amount of restraint before asking in an even measured tone, "Capitan, do you realize that this puzzle is comprised of nearly four quintillion possible configurations? Only one in twelve of those permutations will result in a successful strategy for completing the task. I believe I had determined one of those extremely low probability strategies, but now the statistical odds are again very much against my future success."

Jim laughed and replied, "Christ, Spock. The cube is not out to get you, it is only a game. No wonder it is such a pain in the ass, though, Just randomly twist the thing and everything will work out."

"An appropriate parallel to the way in which you approach most challenges, Capitan. However, I am disinclined to think that this puzzle will somehow magically solve itself. I have no choice but to begin again by analyzing the current configuration and determining the statistical probability of success for each future decision."

Jim rubbed his face vigorously with his hands and sighed. "It is just a game!" he said loudly while extending his hands in exasperation.

Spock picked up the cube and turned it in his hands, closely examining each square. "And that, Capitan, is why you will never successfully conquer me at chess." He quipped with just a hint of pleasure. The bridge erupted in laughter and cat calls, but Spock pretended not to notice.

Jim gracefully acknowledged the fact that he had been bested, but it was clear that this but one battle in an ongoing friendly fire war. "Bones!" He called, "are you going to let them do this to me?" he asked gesturing around the room at the sniggering crew.

"As long as it doesn't come to blows." He answered flatly. There seemed to be some kind of inside joke there judging by the reaction of the crew, but I missed it.

"No, we're cool. Right, Spock?" He asked again turning to the half-Vulcan who only momentarily paused his pacing to look from the puzzle to the Capitan with a blank expression. "Yeah," Jim said confidently returning to us, "we're cool."

"Peachy," Dr. McCoy retorted dryly, "as much as I would love to bask in the love fest you guys have going on up here, my shift is over." He tapped his wrist where a watch would be to indicate his impatience.

The Capitan ordered everyone except Spock off the bridge before saying with a slight smile, "Ok, Bones. I will make this short. I am not thrilled about your new assistant, but I am willing to let that slide along with the fact that you should have talked to me first. I am not opposed to having a counselor on board, but her status does cause a bit of a problem for me that I now have to explain to Starfleet. Seeing as how this is all a grey area, I have decided that she can continue her job if she likes, but here is how it will work: you will supervise her in the sick bay, but she will not report to you. Furthermore, you will report to Mr. Spock regarding her performance and he will handle any grievances that may occur."

Dr. McCoy had effectively come unglued. "You mean I have to report to that bastard?!" He asked incredulously pointing toward an immobile and unreadable Spock. "What the hell? I don't get it, Jim."

"Here is the problem, Bones," Jim said calmly, "the ship's counselor is a commissioned post. She is not commissioned, so she is taking a job that essentially doesn't exist. Normally, the counselor would report to the CMO, but here we are again with her not being commissioned, so really she reports to no one. We obviously can't have that, so the next logical person would be Spock as the Science Officer because at least some of the people who work in the labs are civilian and he is responsible for them. Not a perfect fit, I agree, but that is why you will give him input on her performance. And let's face it Bones," he went on with a chuckle, "your reputation for raining hellfire down on med students is legendary. But even lowly cadets have a chain of command to protect them from unfair retribution, she would have no way to challenge any sanctions you may hand out. That is why Spock will handle any disciplinary issues that may come up, as a neutral third party."

"So, I am not so much reporting to him as informing him." Dr. McCoy clarified glaring sideways at Spock. "There is a world of difference between the two." I wasn't sure why Dr. McCoy seemed to despise Spock so much. Did he beat him out of a promotion or something?

"Sure." Jim agreed. "Is that alright with you?" He asked turning to me.

"While I have every confidence in Dr. McCoy's ability to adequately and fairly treat me as an equal," I began diplomatically, "I believe the system you have devised will work well to ensure a smooth and reasonable means of arbitration. If anyone on this ship can maintain a sense of unbiased neutrality, it would be Mr. Spock." I immediately felt like a brown noser and internally winced at being overly gratuitous with the compliments.

"Great!" Jim said slapping the arm of his chair, "Bones, enjoy your off time in whatever legal way you see fit."

"I am having a small party in my quarters," he growled heading to the lift, "Jim Beam, Jack Daniels, Johnnie Walker, and an Irish guy named Jamison."

"Thought so," Jim sighed, "just go easy, Ok?" There seemed to be a genuine element of cautious concern in his voice that I immediately picked up on. The doctor solemnly nodded over his shoulder and disappeared down the lift.

"Capitan," I began with trepidation. He raised his eyebrows. "Jim," I corrected, "will he be alright?" I added just enough inflection to indicate my meaning.

Jim sighed before replying, "That depends. Do you mean for tonight or in the long term? I can't blame the bastard, his life has been hell since I met him, and from what he has told me some time before that. His wife left him and took the kids and that was pretty much the beginning of the end." He shook his head and his usually vibrant blue eyes became dull. "Life sure has a way of kicking you in the teeth, 'eh?"

"Tell me about it." I moaned. "That poor guy got dumped, Spock lost his entire planet, and I have found myself inexplicably 250 years into the future. Cosmic karma is a bitch."

"To say that karma is the cause of our unsatisfactory experiences is to imply that we have all performed poorly in a previous life and are now subject to retribution. I find that logic unsound." Spock chimed in while casually leaning against his console, still playing with his toy. "I am skeptical that all of us had committed acts sufficiently heinous enough to be deserving of such outcomes. Aside from this, I assure you that the cosmos is not a sentient being; as such it does not care about you or even know of your existence."

Jim and I looked from Spock to each other and smiled. No one quite knew how to kill a buzz like Spock. Smart as he was, he was not quite as skilled in the art of commiseration as humans.

"Well," Jim said half laughing, "at least you know how you got here. Now we just need to know why."

I nodded, the smile fading from my face. "You are right," I said quietly, "I think it is time we all had some answers."


	17. Chapter 17 The Truth Comes Out

**A/N: Thank you to all who have reviewed and have been so patient. I am trying to wrap it up soon, so enjoy as the pieces begin to fall into place. Cheers!**

**Chapter 17- The Truth Comes Out**

The Capitan summoned in the next shift of workers and we left them to sit in the side room where the awful Klingons had been. Thankfully, the stench was gone. Spock sat quietly in front of me, placing his gift on the table. He no doubt didn't want the next person at his station repeating what Jim had done.

"Are you sure you want to do this now?" Jim asked sitting next to me. "I mean, don't get me wrong- I want to know what we are dealing with here. But if it will cause some kind of damage, we can wait." His voice was strained, but I knew he was sincere at heart; he just wasn't very practiced at this whole sensitivity thing.

"I think I am past that now," I reassured, "working in the sick bay made me realize that even though a terrible rift in time exists, it didn't change who I am at the very core of my being. No matter how much time has passed, human nature hasn't changed and I still have a gift that I can share with others. I have to accept the mechanics of my being here, but I do not have to let it change everything that I am…my very identity. I just have to remember who I am and pull on the resilience of human nature to adapt."

"Sounds like a plan." Jim said looking rather impressed.

"Ok," I began, "so memory doesn't work like a movie reel. Some of it is fragmented and may not be in the correct order, but here is what I can tell you: I know the man that was on the screen. I remember being at work when I got a call from the inpatient psych ward, they wanted me to come down to see a guy that had just come in. When I got there, it was that man that was on the screen; I will never forget the facial tattoos. He had no identification on him, so we just called him John Doe. Anyway, he was in full restraints, which is odd because we hardly use those anymore, only on the most violent patients."

"Why would you not use them?" Jim asked.

"Because of HIPPA, a patient's rights bill. If you use physical restraints, a doctor must first certify that it is required and then re-certify every 24 hours. It is usually much easier to use a 'chemical restraint' like a nice fat dose of Thorazine." I replied with a smile. "But apparently, the loading dose did not do the job and it was dangerous to give him more, so they wanted me to certify for them. Normally that wouldn't be my job, but it was a Saturday and I was the only one on staff that could sign off. I guess that is what I get for trying to catch up on paperwork."

"Then what happened?" Jim inquired edging slightly closer to me.

"He was placed in a solitary cell, and I went in to talk to him. In order for me to have evidence that will hold up in court, I had to determine if he was a danger to himself or others. I remembered he seemed so angry, but he was frightened too. Who wouldn't be? He told me his name was Saren and he was a Romulan Capitan from the future. I had to admit, I had never heard that one before. Normally people are afraid that they are being watched or controlled by aliens hence the tinfoil hats, they usually don't believe they are one."

"So this Saren was being truthful with you?" Spock asked with a raised eyebrow.

"In retrospect, I guess he was." I admitted. "But at the time, I just thought he was crackers. He told me that I had to let him go because his ship was waiting in orbit. Apparently he had come to the surface looking for provisions and didn't realize that you had to pay for what you got at the store. He was belligerent, the police were called, and that was how he wound up at the hospital."

Jim stifled a smile at the Romulan's apparent lack of courtesy or custom.

"The longer I talked to him, the more interested he seemed to take in where he was and what my role as a doctor was. It was strange because he seemed completely lucid and coherent, not at all what I would expect from someone who is frankly psychotic. Still, he was easily agitated and threatened to kill me several times over, so I gave the go ahead on the restraints. I returned to my office and went back to the endless pile of charts. It was maybe an hour or so later that he was there in the doorway. I remembered feeling a wave of panic because he looked very angry and he was blocking my only exit unless I wanted to jump out a window. I didn't know how he got out of restraints of off the unit without an alarm going off, furthermore, I didn't know how he found me; my office wasn't really near the ward. The last memory I had of being on Earth was him drawing some kind of weapon and shooting me with this really sick and twisted smile on his tattooed face and then I was staring at the ceiling of my office."

"A disruptor pistol, most likely." Spock clarified.

"The next thing I remembered was being in a dark, metal room. Everything was rusted and it was so damn hot, I was sweating profusely." I sighed just thinking about how uncomfortable it all was. "I had been chained to a wall by the wrists and was sitting on the ground. I must have sat there for hours before he opened the door. He kicked me a few times and asked me how I liked being held captive against my will. Then he told me the mistake that brought him to Earth had been corrected and soon we would be back in his domain. He told me he had plans for me and that his Senate would give him medals. I didn't even look at him or say anything."

"Did he tell you his plans?" Spock asked quietly.

"No," I admitted, "he didn't elaborate. He was more interested in getting me to acknowledge his greatness, a typical megalomaniac. I knew that there were two options when dealing with a narcissist: either you debase them and they self destruct or you ally with them. I tried the first and it was a gamble, but it only made him angry and for who knows how long he regularly came to kick the crap out of me until either I died or submitted."

"I don't mean to interrupt," Jim said blinking slowly, "but how did you deal with being on Earth and then finding yourself on an alien ship? I mean, wasn't that a little disorienting?"

I smiled. "You know, the human will for survival is so strong that the only thing I was concerned with was figuring out what I had to do to stay alive. I didn't waste time on things that would not help me achieve that. I guess I didn't really believe that it was a spaceship, I thought I was in the guy's basement or something. It was strange because the emotional part of me completely shut down and I had become pure thought; my every waking moment was spent observing his movements and trying to figure him out in order to maximize my chance of survival. I found myself counting his steps, the number of seconds he left the door open when he came in or went out, the number of times he could kick or punch me before growing tired- all in the small chance that I could break free."

Spock sat motionless and his face displayed nothing, but his eyes twinkled with a familiar sense of knowing.

"He held me there for days, I don't know how many exactly until at one point two other Romulans I had never seen before, a man and a woman, released me and led me to another part of the ship that contained what looked like a coffin filled with dry ice. The ship was shaking like crazy, I would guess that was the point at which they were being attacked. They tried to force me into the damn thing, but I knew my skin would be burned so I fought with them. After that, I woke up in the sick bay and saw the two of you for the first time."

Jim sat back in his chair with a sigh while glancing at Spock. "Jesus," he said, "I'd keep that shit locked up good and tight if I were you, too. So, we know that the Romulans went back to your time by mistake, and this Saren guy took you hostage until you were frozen and scuttled when the Klingons came. Do you think he just took you for revenge?"

"I am not sure," I answered, "he said he had plans for me, but that is pretty vague."

"I would not presume it to be a bluff, Jim." Spock commented. "He could have killed her at any time to satisfy his need for revenge. The fact that he came for her and attacked the Enterprise would indicate that he did have another purpose and a very strong motivation to secure her return."

"Yeah," he said placing his hands behind his head, "but what would that motivation be? What could make a Romulan face almost certain death rather than the alternative?"

"Honor." Spock said matter of factly. "The Doctor has told us that he expected commendation from the Romulan Senate for his plans. He could not possibly return to them without her, which is why she was placed in stasis. Perhaps he believed he could defeat the Klingon squadron, but in order to attain the glory he desired, even in death if he suffered defeat, was to preserve her and call other ships to collect the capsule to take it back to Romulus."

Jim's eyes lit up. "Of course! He called his buddies to come get her because he knew that the Klingons had no interest. She would have been safe floating out there no matter how long it took. But it also explains why the cryogenic process was so sloppily done, they simply didn't have the time while they were under attack."

"A very logical course of action when it is all considered." Spock concluded.

"Christ, Spock. Sometimes you are worth your weight in ale as a Science Officer." Jim declared.

Spock reserved his neutral expression and flatly replied, "I accept your compliment, Capitan."


	18. Chapter 18 Fear and Loathing

**Chapter 18- Fear and Loathing**

In the following days, I became more and more accustomed to the hustle and flow of the ship. The way in which people coursed through the interior made it seem like a living organism in its own right. Jim had long ago decided to leave Klingon airspace before they lost patience and he was blasted out. McCoy and I had formed an easy and comfortable alliance. I learned to anticipate his needs and mood to the point that not a word was required, I just knew when to step in and when to step away. When it was slow, he would spend time showing me how the new technology of various instruments worked and lectured on various diseases and conditions. I had come to admire his depth of knowledge; he seemed to be truly gifted and passionate about medicine. I saw Madison sometimes and she confided that working had become easier since my arrival; McCoy seemed to be more patient and relaxed. I got to know a lot of crewmembers while they were being cared for. I would sometimes spend hours sitting at the bedside just talking and trying to ally the fear and anxiety some had or just to pass the time during recovery. Of course not everyone wanted or needed my services, and I was always careful not to push but to make myself available to everyone.

I hadn't been to the bridge since spilling my guts to Jim and Spock, but I was usually kept informed of the goings on by Uhura over lunch. We were occasionally joined by Sulu and Chekov, though never at the same time as someone had to cover the post. I had come to know them well and found them both to have integrity and a sincerity that was refreshing. I didn't see Jim and Spock as much, but I did attend the pop culture movie night with Jim and Scotty. Everything was feeling normal again, peaceful even. That was until I got word from Uhura that we were heading for a nearby Starbase on the orders of Starfleet. We were to pick up a Romulan defector and bring them back to Earth. My heart froze in my chest as once again my world that I had so carefully and meticulously crafted had been upended.

Defector or not, I was in no hurry to ever see a Romulan again in any context. I knew that the people I had come to consider friends would never allow harm to come to me while I was with them, but still I felt an impending sense of doom. I was aware that gross generalization was not really fair and I should judge an individual on their personal characteristics, but it was so hard to be neutral in the face of a history of such brutal cruelty. This was all going to end in tears, I just knew it.

As much terror as I felt, I wondered how Spock handled the news. Stoic as always, no doubt, but how civil could he possibly be toward a member of the race that destroyed his entire life? Like Humpty Dumpty at least McCoy was able to put me back together again, no one could do that for his home world. I would ask him, but he would most likely artfully dodge the question as he was so good at doing if you weren't paying strict attention. You really had to stay on your toes with him, he was not above using very human tactics and exploiting weaknesses to his advantage if he didn't particularly want to answer your inquiry, all while acting as though he didn't have the capacity for such things. If you were astute enough to catch him in the act, slightly downcast eyes or the tiny curl of his lips would be the only tacit admission of guilt you would receive. While it infuriated most on the ship, I found his gift for understatement endearing and quite clever. That is, unless I was the one digging for information; then it became irritating.

I expressed my concerns to McCoy, who regarded me with a squint. "No one likes the Romulans!" he stated emphatically. "Hell, I would take a cranky Klingon over a Romulan any day. I know that you and the hobgoblin have a particularly large axe to grind with them, but don't forget that they tried to destroy Earth twice, once 100 years ago during the Earth-Romulan War that lasted four bloody years and again just 2 years ago. That kind of pisses me off and a lot of other humans on this ship too."

Of course I wasn't the only party to have been wronged here and I felt selfish for being so focused on my own experience to the exclusion of others. It was bizarre to think of the Romulans as being so closely related to humans when our cultures couldn't have been more different. Granted, humans certainly had the capacity for mind blowing atrocity and cruelty, but as a rule we found cooperation better than constant warfare. Not so for the Romulans, who essentially looked exactly like humans but chose to emphasize the most base of our tendencies and hold tightly to a warrior culture that gloried in death and destruction. It was confusing to think that humans had more in common with our distant Vulcan cousins who merely resembled us than Romulan brothers who were essentially our identical twins.

"At any rate, you just have to get used to the idea of them being on board." He continued grabbing a nearby clipboard. "We will be docking in a few hours. At least I can restock the medical supplies, we have been adrift so long I am out of damn near everything. Good thing we didn't have a major catastrophe, I would have been ripping up bed sheets for bandages." He was nothing if not resourceful.

I paced the floor of the sickbay. We only had one patient that was currently sleeping after suffering food poisoning due to a replicator malfunction. She was pale and dehydrated, but her prognosis was good since McCoy had hooked her up to fluids and a sedative to help her sleep through the worst of it. McCoy tried to focus on his clipboard while occasionally digging through drawers and cabinets to inventory his supplies, but my pacing was distracting him gauging by his sharp tone, "Damn it! Am I going to have to sedate you too?" I stopped, but twisted my fingers nervously. "Seriously," he sighed, "I know the last thing you want to see is a Romulan, but in all actuality you will probably never run into them. The ship is big enough that with a little careful planning and a good sense of timing you can avoid just about anybody. Just ask Jim how he does it when he is supposed to come down here for a mandatory exam. He is the master of artful dodging."

I smiled at his attempt to placate me. I had heard many stories of the Captain's seeming phobia of the sick bay. In fact, the extent to which he would go in order to stubbornly avoid medical attention in the face of all reason was legendary. According to the legend, it usually fell to Spock to either gently persuade him or drag him by sheer force depending on the severity of the injury involved. The general rule was the worse his condition, the more effort it took. Even if he had been completely run through by a spear he would insist he was fine and have to be manhandled kicking and screaming all the way to deck 5 to get it looked at.

"Or," McCoy added while counting gauze pads, "if you don't want to take the chance, you could always ask Scotty if you can put a cot in the engine room and sleep down there. I am sure he wouldn't mind." A wicked smile crossed his lips and I imagined trying to sleep among the roar of the machinery. "Or I could preload a hypospray with a tranquilizer. You can carry it around with you that way if you ever crossed paths, you could just shoot yourself in the neck. It will take you out just like that!" he snapped his fingers for effect. "Or maybe you can just curl up and hide under Chekov's console. God knows that will be the closest he has been to a woman in ages."

"Ok," I said gesturing for him to stop, "I get it. I am being irrational. And although you are chock full of helpful solutions to the problem, perhaps it is best that I not worry about it and just go about my business."

"'Atta girl." He grumbled making checkmarks on his list.

Sufficiently cheered, I moved to his side and helped him count boxes of syringes, vials of medicines, and bandages of various sizes. We worked together for several minutes before Chekov's voice filled the room via an intercom to announce, "Ve vill be arriving at Starbase in twenty three minutes time. Ve are scheduled to be docked for two hours, please see your commanding officers for assignments. The Captain vould like to remind everyone this is not a vacation, so there vill be no…" there was a long pause before he stammered, "…lolly…gagging. Thank you."

I chuckled at his struggle to master slang. McCoy shook his head as he signed the bottom of his requisition form with flourish. "There are some days I can't understand a damn thing that comes out of his mouth. Here," he said shoving the paper toward me, "take this to Jim. If he doesn't sign off on that we will be up a creek." As I turned to go with paper in hand, he called, "And make sure he signs the damn thing instead of tossing it into a pile somewhere! Bring it back with his John Hancock or stay up there until you get it. Follow him around and yank on his shirt if you have to."

I looked over the papers on the way up in the lift. McCoy's handwriting was nearly illegible, just as I would expect from a doctor. I hoped Jim wouldn't ask me questions about particular items, I wouldn't be able to decipher the hieroglyphics any better than he could despite helping with the process.

I exited the lift and nodded at Spock who was the first to look in my direction. He regarded me with a blank expression, neither glad nor surprised to see me doing gopher work for McCoy. Perhaps it was to be expected. Uhura smiled at me as did Sulu and Chekov, who wore an embarrassed glow as though he had just been on the receiving end of harmless ridicule for his less than perfect annunciation. Jim, as usual, sat twisting back and forth in his chair while an image of the floating space station floated placidly onscreen.

"Hey, Doc!" He cheerfully said, blue eyes twinkling. Something told me he was the source of Chekov's good natured ribbing.

"Dr. McCoy wanted you to sign this." I stated handing the papers to him.

He stood up and leaned in close as though he were inspecting the papers intensely. He placed his hand on my shoulder and began to walk toward the small room off the command center. "Yeah, let's look over this," he said slowly and deliberately, "Spock, you have the com until I get back."

"Aye, Captain." He replied with all the intensity of a wet noodle.

I felt as though I were being marched into a lion's den and when we arrived, I tentatively asked, "Is there a problem with my performance, Jim?"

He seemed stunned, but only momentarily and he plopped down in a chair. "No! In fact, Bones seems to like you. But then again, you are taking over a job that he absolutely hated, so what's not to like?" His smile faded some before he continued, "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about what is going on. I am sure you have heard by now that we are escorting a Romulan dissident back to Starfleet." I tried to maintain a neutral expression so as not to reveal Uhura as my inside source. "The thing is, I hear that this is no ordinary Romulan. This may be useful to us or it may not, but word is she served with Saren for a time." He paused and the implication hung heavy in the air. "She may know something that can finally solve the puzzle."


	19. Chapter 19 An Unexpected Request

**Chapter 19- An Unexpected Request**

McCoy and I punched the proverbial time clock after I returned his autographed requisition sheet and he had briefed the next shift on the days events which took him about 4 seconds. We were headed for the lifts when he caught me entirely by surprise. "So," he started in a gruff voice, "wanna grab some dinner?" he had never invited me, or anyone else for that matter to sit with him during meals. He usually preferred to sit alone, wolf down his food, and run out the door. Even if the cafeteria was full, people would rather eat standing or sit on each other's laps before asking to share his table. Transgressors were met with a wicked glare if not an audible growl. I cautiously accepted, but internally laughed at his inelegant approach. His social skills were rusty at best and I wondered how he would go about asking someone on a date.

10 forward was not as busy as usual, I assumed most people had gone down to the starbase, so we easily found a table. "Do you need me to order for you?" He teased. I just knew he would never let me live that down.

"That was forever ago," I defended, "before I figured all of this stuff out."

"Yeah," he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "I know the idea of sitting down and telling someone what you want to eat must be such a newfangled thing." His tone was flat, but his face hinted at a playfulness I couldn't help but laugh at. It was amazing how much younger he looked when he wasn't intensely scowling.

"Bones!" Jim shouted across the room. "I saw your list, are you trying to bankrupt me or what?" The Captain was grinning from ear to ear as he approached with Spock in tow.

"No, Jim," he said slightly irritated, "just trying to keep up with the major catastrophes you always seem to get us into."

"And out of." He smiled shrugging his shoulders.

"Which reminds me," McCoy drawled, "isn't it about time for your yearly physical?"

Jim quickly looked at the table and bit his lip. "Uh..no, actually. I just did it…last month, remember?" He stammered. McCoy just looked at him skeptically and slowly nodded. The scent of bullshit hung thick in the air.

"Actually, Dr. McCoy, the Captain had a physical three and a half months ago after he participated in the surface exploration of Alpha 177." Spock corrected.

McCoy looked like he wanted to spit nails. "Of course I remember, dammit! You and Sulu had to drag his carcass to the sick bay after he got caught in a landslide of frozen boulders the size of warp core engines! My God, man!"

Spock clasped his hands behind his back and quietly said, "I apologize for insinuating your memory was incomplete, Doctor."

"Just keep it up, you pointy eared bastard," he growled, "you are well on your way to a surprise prostate exam. Christ! I don't even know that you have one. With your crazy mixed up hybrid physiology, God only knows what you have and what you don't."

"Easy, Bones." Jim said patting him good naturedly on the shoulder. "You know he doesn't mean anything by it. Anyway, your supplies are being loaded now. I told the receiving crew to deliver them to the sick bay so you will be fully stocked in the morning. Here's to hoping you won't need to go through it all before we reach Earth."

"We won't so long as you don't go looking for trouble between now and then." He grumbled.

Jim laughed and replied, "I don't always go looking for trouble, Bones. Sometimes it just finds me." He got a small chuckle from the abrasive physician which gave him courage to continue. "You know, Bones, when we get to Earth, Starfleet wants to take the opportunity to refit some of the components of the ship. We are expecting to have about a week of shore leave. Maybe you can take time to go somewhere and relax for a bit." The last phrase turned out to be more of a question than a statement, to which McCoy became sullen and shrugged.

"Just an idea." Jim said softly before turning to me. "We have the Romulan on board. Sindari has requested to meet you. We have made arrangements in the Officer's Lounge on 2 at your earliest convenience." It seemed like Jim was the bearer of bad news for the day.

"What…why?" I stammered in total shock. "Why should I?!" I knew that I would eventually go only because Jim's professional reputation was probably on the line here and I didn't want to initiate a diplomatic meltdown of galactic proportions, but it all seemed so unfair. Really, what could we possibly have to say to each other?

_I appreciate your people's sustained attention to detail in beating me mercilessly. So punctual and consistent! You just can't find that in captors these days._

He shrugged and Spock added, "I do not believe the Romulan female means you harm. She has renounced her people's way of life and as such requires asylum from the Federation or risk being murdered by her own kind for her dishonor."

I loved the way that Spock's cold analysis so often felt like a sobering slap in the face when I wanted nothing more than to wallow in self-pity. "Alright," I sighed, "but you had better have a nice stiff drink waiting on me when I get there. And I do not want to be alone with her."

"Sounds reasonable," Jim agreed, "who do you want to go with you?"

"Spock." I blurted out without hesitation. Not only would he keep me centered and calm, but she should be forced to face him as well given the gravity of his loss at the hands of her people. I wanted her to tremble and beg for mercy at the sight of him. I knew it was selfish of me to feel that way, but I wanted her to suffer as we did.

"Spock?" Jim asked turning to his Commander. At first he stood like a stature, ho movement in his posture or his eyes. Finally, he clenched his jaw tightly and nodded once. "Ok," The Captain said raising his eyebrows, "but I warn you, he is a piss poor bartender."


	20. Chapter 20 Absolution

**Chapter 20- Absolution**

My legs felt like noodles all the way to the lift. McCoy gave me a reassuring squeeze to the elbow as I left the table, but I hardly felt it. I hated myself for it, but all I could think of was smashing her head in with a chair while screaming my best war cry at the top of my lungs. So much displaced anger, I had to remind myself that she was not Saren and in all likelihood had nothing to do with what he did.

The lift was like a death chamber. "Spock," I called softly and waited until I had his attention, "when we get there, I just want you to know that you might see and hear things that are unbecoming of me. Please forget it all and just pretend it never happened."

He raised an eyebrow and asked, "Are you anticipating engaging in what you humans would call …a cat fight?" I broke out into hysterical laughter. His unexpected humor was just as bracing as his logic sometimes.

"Well," I said gasping for breath, "when you get two angry women in a room together, things can get real ugly real fast."

"Indeed," he admitted trying his best to suppress a smile, "I have previously witnessed the behavior of two human females engaged in combat while on shore leave with Jim in a drinking establishment and it was quite a spectacle to behold. I believe William Shakespeare rightly captured the ferocity of the battle by saying 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.' Not even Klingon women will spar with such intensity over seemingly trivial slights as your species does."

"What were the women fighting over?" I asked imagining his reaction at watching such a thing.

"I believe they were competing for Jim's romantic attention." He replied flatly.

"Of course." I muttered. If Jim wasn't directly involved in a fight, his mere presence would start one by proxy.

"Doctor, will you be capable of conducting yourself in a professional manner?" He asked in a serious tone.

I should have been offended at having my professionalism called into question, but I knew he was trying to impress the importance of this meeting on me. "I believe I can, Spock." I sighed. "I just have to approach this as I would a belligerent patient who has lost their mind. Do not take anything she says personally. If all else fails, I can just shut down and say nothing. Not exactly healthy, but saying nothing is better than saying the wrong thing out of hatred. But it isn't like you have no dog in the fight here. The question is, can you handle yourself properly in light of what she has done to you?"

"Dog in the fight…" he muttered with a raised eyebrow. "I admit, Doctor, that I have fallen behind on studying phrases of your day. They are quite amusing at times, but as to your inquiry, she has done nothing to me. I have only known her for the time it took Jim and I to escort her from the transporter room to her quarters, so I have no reason to like or dislike her."

"Seriously, Spock." I declared looking him straight in the eye. "You cannot tell me that you don't harbor some kind of resentment toward her. Whether personally guilty or not, she was part of an establishment that saw fit to obliterate your planet. Doesn't that make you just a little bit angry? I know that racism is a vile and filthy thing that no one wants to admit to, but don't tell me you are so perfect that deep down in some dark crevice of your soul you don't hate her just for being a Romulan."

He quickly turned away and faced forward, his usual sign that the conversation was now over. He stood still, but I noticed the slight flaring of his nostrils as he breathed deeply in and out in an effort to quell the maelstrom I had stirred up on the inside. I pissed him off, but it was for his own good; spitting in his soup we in the trade liked to call it. I wasn't happy about the way I felt about her either, but at least I had the balls to admit it.

We exited the lift and walked to the Officer's Lounge in absolute silence. We opened the door to find a woman sitting with her back to us. Her hair was long, dark and curly and covered most of her back. She seemed about average in size, perhaps just a bit taller than I. She turned to us and I was shocked to see that she too had facial tattoos, not as extensive as Saren's, but the black lines intertwined in intricate patterns across her forehead and down the bridge of her nose. I was further taken aback by her pointed ears. I didn't remember Saren's being that way, but then again the room was dark and I was a bit distracted. My memory had tricked me into thinking they were more like us when in reality they more closely resembled Spock.

"Jolan Tru." She said with a low, silky voice. "I didn't think you would come." Her tone held just a hint of sadness and her dark eyes regarded me without malice.

I couldn't be angry with her, she had taken that away from me, but I still remained wary. "I came on Captain Kirk's request. I am only here out of respect for him." I told her in a flat, steely tone.

She nodded her head and lowered her eyes. "I understand." She said quietly. The intensity of her sadness became overwhelming and once again I felt the clinical side kick in. She was obviously suffering and although I knew it was madness, I felt compelled to try and fix it. I had every right to be angry with her, I could have peppered her with well turned insults and despised her, but I just couldn't bring myself to inflict more pain on top of what she was already experiencing.

I sat on a low chair in front of her and leaned forward with my elbows on my knees. "Why did you ask to see me?" I inquired in a soft tone.

She looked up into my eyes and paused before answering, "I wanted to honor your custom of apology."

I sat there and tried to quickly sort out my feelings before proceeding. On the one hand I was touched by the gesture, but on the other, I didn't want her pity or her apology if she didn't fully understand what it meant. I chose my next words carefully. "You know that an apology is an admission of guilt." She nodded yes and I went on. "And you know that you can only be sorry for the acts that you have committed. You cannot accept blame for what others do." Again she indicated that she understood. I sighed and then stated, "Then tell me what you are sorry for."

She twisted in her seat before saying, "I was on the ship when Saren took you. I was the one that went down to your planet and freed him when he did not return with the provisions. I tried to persuade him to leave you behind, but it was his orders that you be taken. I knew you were there and I knew what he was doing, but at the time I still believed you to be an inferior race that deserved what came to you. It was Galan and I that removed you when we came under attack and placed you in stasis."

"That was you?" I asked somewhat surprised. I didn't remember her in particular, my memory only recorded a woman in general. "Saren said he had plans for me. Do you know what he intended?" I asked in a soothing tone.

"Yes," she admitted looking at her feet, "I was the Science Officer on the ship. Although we believe humans to be inferior, Romulans are still fascinated with your kind. Saren intended to bring you back to Romulus and present you to the chief of the Senate as an antiquated human slave, quite a rare gift. It would have assured him a high position in the military and he would have gained considerable power and influence with the Senate."

"You were going to make me a slave?" I asked trying to mask my anger. If slavery on Romulus was anything like the barbaric practice that was carried out on Earth, I was appalled at the very thought of it.

"That was the intent," she confirmed, "but Saren lost all. You do know that you were not the only one…" Her eyes were sincere and questioning, and just then I swore that the sky was falling.


	21. Chapter 21 Kobayashi Maru

**Chapter 21- Kobayashi Maru**

During the whole conversation, Spock had made himself inconspicuous in the corner of the room. He had been so quiet that I had almost forgotten he was there, but I suddenly became aware of his presence when he swiftly moved to my side.

"I…did you just say that there were more humans besides me?" I gasped.

"While you were most prized, there were more, yes." She said in an even tone.

I sat straight up and gave a desperate laugh. "What in the hell makes me so goddamn special?" I demanded. I wondered why I had been separated from the others. Why had I been denied contact with them? All this time I thought I was alone…

"Because Saren said you were learned." She explained calmly. "While most of the slave classes toil in hard labor until the moment of their death, an educated slave would have been of great value. We had three humans on the ship when we were attacked, all determined by Saren to be of great worth. One male died in transit and the other female perished when the transporter malfunctioned and her signal was lost."

"Sindari," Spock said with great care, "how many humans were taken in total?"

She glared at him and he returned her gaze in equal measure. "It is no secret that our people have been at war for centuries," she spat in irritation, "we hold the humans in low regard, but Vulcans are beneath the slave classes."

Spock did not flinch as he calmly said, "The history of our people is indeed long and filled with strife. However, you and I find ourselves here in this place far away from our people because we both in our own ways rejected that history. As the doctor said, neither of us can atone for the acts of our ancestors, we can only be responsible for our own actions in this time and place. Neither of us can again awaken the dead; what can be done is to account for the lives of the humans which may yet remain. So the question still stands, how many humans were captured and what became of them?"

She regarded him in spiteful silence for a few moments. Finally she turned to me and answered, "There were 10 in all. The remaining 7 were placed on another ship and are awaiting the return of Saren. He will not give up or return to Romulus until he reclaims his prize."

"Then we must retrieve them." Spock stated as though there were no other options to be considered.

She looked at him disdainfully before again addressing me. "Now I have told you all that I am guilty of. The next step in your tradition is forgiveness."

I felt my teeth grinding. "Forgiveness is not automatically granted in exchange for an apology. I am not required to forget what you have done." Her eyes reflected genuine despair and I immediately regretted being so quick to anger. "However," I started slowly, "if you are truly remorseful for your actions, then I will forgive you. But just as you cannot accept responsibility for the actions of others, I can only grant forgiveness on behalf of myself. It will be up to the others to decide what they will do."

"Jolan Tru." She said again as Spock and I turned to go. I turned quickly to her and muttered goodbye when I noticed a single tear fall from her eye. It was heart breaking, but I had other business to attend to.

I sighed heavily while we waited for a lift. I felt exhausted- completely mentally drained. "I must admit, Doctor, I did not anticipate for you to overlook your anger as much as you did to show compassion to the woman you previously wished to attack." Spock said in a neutral tone.

"Yeah, me either." I confessed. "But sometimes we humans find ourselves in a moment of grace that allows us to transcend the circumstances despite our deepest desires for revenge."

"I am curious then," he stated turning toward me, "as you gave me a logic puzzle, I will give you one befitting the current situation. It is a simulation I designed for Starfleet cadets in the command track."

"Oh Jesus," I murmured shaking my head, "if it is something you designed, I doubt Steven Hawking could figure it out."

"I would be very interested in his solution." He replied. "However, the parameters of this thought experiment are as follows: your fellow humans are held in a cargo vessel in enemy territory. As the Captain of the Enterprise you can decide to rescue the humans, but you will be attacked and sustain heavy damage and casualties, possibly even the destruction of the ship. Alternatively, you can elect to allow your human counterparts to perish at the hands of the enemy. Which do you choose?"

I thought about it as the lift carried us back to 10 forward. "How many people would I lose if I decided to rescue them?" I asked thoughtfully.

"An unknown number." He answered simply.

"Great." I sighed. "How many prisoners are there?"

"Less than 300." He replied.

After a moment more I looked at him and made my choice. "Let them die."

His eyebrow shot up in surprise. "Interesting. The same conclusion reached by Mr. Sulu on his exam. May I ask how you arrived at your solution?"

"Cost benefit analysis multiplied by utilitarianism." I said coldly. "There are only 300 prisoners. If I attempt a rescue that will at the very least cause heavy damage, the casualties on the ship are most likely going to greatly exceed the number of prisoners. So, the question becomes when does the need of the few outweigh the rights of the many? In this case it doesn't, so it is in the best interest of everyone that I do nothing and let them die."

"I must confess, Doctor, I did not expect you to make that choice." He said with a small measure of amusement as we exited the lift.

"And why is that, Spock?" I asked. "Is it because you thought I would have a particularly strong drive to save my own kind, or the fact that I choose to spend my time dealing with mushy, messy emotional stuff that can cloud rational judgment?" I teased.

"I would have attributed it to both, but I conclude now that I would have been in error." He replied with a slight bow. "However, I can assure you the Captain will choose a novel solution with a very low probability of succeeding but will end up doing so despite himself."

"Hey!" Jim turned his blue eyes in our direction at the sound of his First Officer's voice. "That was fast. How did it go?"

It was a matter of minutes before the ship had been mobilized and we were screaming across the vast expanse of space at warp 9 headlong into Romulan airspace.


	22. Chapter 22 Trial by Fire

**Chapter 22- Trial by Fire**

I leaned against the bed in sick bay with Madison as McCoy paced in front of us like a drill sergeant. "Good thing we had a chance to stock up." He mused before addressing us. "Here is how it will go down, folks. Believe it or not, we are the only three available for duty down here. I have dispatched the rest of medical to various parts of the ship that are likely to see some action so they can spot treat and manage the flow of traffic." His face was intense as he laid out his plans. "Do you know anything at all practical that can help?" He asked stopping in front of me.

"Uh...just your standard CPR and first aid." I replied. "I could probably do superficial stitches if I had to."

"Then that is what you will do." He decreed. "Abrams, you will triage incoming and assist me when you aren't busy. People who are in serious condition go to the right with me and those who can wait or are a loss will go to the left with her." He said shoving a crash cart across the room to me. "A word of advice," He said to me with grim determination, "don't waste your time or our supplies on people who are going to die, and believe me there will be some of those. The next few hours will be all about sew and go for you, just focus on the ones you can help and forget about the ones you can't." His expression was hard and resigned, but I knew it was out of pure necessity.

"Dr. McCoy, we have never sent away teams to other decks. When did this change?" Madison asked timidly.

He sighed and placed his hands on his hips. His voice was quiet and contained just a hint of uncertainty. "About 10 minutes ago. Look, I'm not going to bullshit you guys. Barring Jim pulling some miracle out of his ass, I am expecting this to be pretty bad. I am just hoping to Christ that having medical in crucial areas will stem the flow of bodies down here."

We stood in silence with each other, mentally bracing ourselves for the onslaught that we hoped could be somehow adverted. There was a collective sigh and feeling of solidarity when Chekov announced that we were approaching our target and all should be at the ready. All three of us watched the door in anticipation when the first wave of aftershocks hit.

At first there was nothing but thunderous explosions and the swaying of the ship. I held tight to the side of the bed and wondered how my friends on the bridge were doing. I imagined Jim bellowing commands as he viewed the action onscreen. Spock would no doubt be dispassionately working his station with great speed and efficiency. Uhura might be trying to communicate with the Romulans to perhaps negotiate an end to the aggression. I could see Sulu piloting the ship with expert precision with Chekov to help in the evasive maneuvers. But it was equally likely that they were bloodied and battered up there facing how many enemy ships? Two? Two hundred? It was the not knowing that killed me, but I knew that what little help I had to offer was best used where I was.

When the first patient arrived, it was like opening the flood gates. Several more arrived in quick succession. Madison stood in the doorway, directing the flow of humanity to the left or right with a sharp authority befitting a General on the battlefield that I never imagined her possessing. Perhaps McCoy had taught her a thing or two. The room filled with the stench of blood and the cries of the injured. McCoy worked furiously and Madison helped him when she could, but with every person that walked through the door it seemed more likely that his impromptu plan may have failed.

At first, I only had a few individuals requiring minor attention and I worked as quickly and efficiently as I could while maintaining a warm connection with them for the duration of our interaction. But behind me, I became aware of a few people who had expired and lay quietly on the floor by the wall. I tried not to look at them or notice the enmeshed pile of flesh and blood that oozed from the horrific wounds they had sustained. Two more people in blue uniforms had appeared and seemed to be helping McCoy as he became quickly overwhelmed with the number of patients needing urgent care.

The ship continued to shake with each successful strike of the enemy and the lights occasionally blinked on and off, but I kept my focus on the task at hand. I found that as time went on and the first aid line became longer, I became less and less friendly with each person, striving only to bandage their wounds as quickly as possible so as to get to the next in line. Behind me the pile of bodies steadily grew until it looked like something out of "Saving Private Ryan." The mass of casually strewn limbs and pale, expressionless faces was disconcerting.

The two people assisting McCoy carried yet another body to the pile and laid her on the floor separate from the pile. I gazed at her in horror as she coughed and a spray of bright red blood shot from her mouth. She wasn't dead yet and they put her with the others! I left the needle and thread dangling from the arm of the person I was sewing and squatted by her. My shoes made a ripping sound as they made their way across the tacky blood stained floor. I held her hand and she looked at me with a mix of fear and relief. I couldn't let her die alone, McCoy be damned. I tried to look into her eyes rather than at the gaping hole that left her entire midsection open for all to see. She clutched my hand tightly and gave a few weak coughs before her eyes went dull. I gently closed her eyes and moved her closer to the pile before returning to the line with a sigh. I felt strangely numb and resigned.

Sadly, that was far from the last time people had been put into the dead pool before they had actually expired. In each case, I stopped what I was doing to be with them for their final moments. Some cried, some asked me to pray with them, some wanted to be held closely, some asked me to give final messages to people I didn't know, but some just went happy to have fulfilled their chosen destiny.

The ship had stopped rocking violently, but the injured continue to pour in. McCoy looked exhausted. His hair hung limp in his grim face, his blue uniform now stained black, blood up to his elbows as he continued like Sisyphus to fight the course of nature in order to repair the damage. Madison looked equally drained, but continued her duties like a machine. I too kept working although I felt as though I might collapse from fatigue. By my calculation, which had the distinct possibility of being skewed, counting the normal workday plus this shift McCoy and I had been working in the sick bay for almost 19 hours.

I was relieved to see more blue uniforms carrying bags of gear arrive to inform McCoy that the mission was over and we were again in the neutral zone heading for Earth. He only minimally acknowledged that fact and continued to work on his patients. With the help of the rest of the medical crew, we quickly cleared the area. Some of the personnel had been assigned by McCoy to identify and carry the dead to a nearby storage area until notifications and burial arrangements could be made.

Ever the professional, he stayed until the last person had received attention and then he slowly crossed the room to me. Together we surveyed the room. What had started as a perfectly clean and organized medical facility now looked like a bomb had gone off. Drawers hung open in various places, sheets hung off beds, and the floor was littered with wrappers and gauze pads that were glued to the floor by the sticky film of blood that coated the floor. Footprints of different sizes and patterns were recorded in the gruesome medium in a chaotic overlapping pattern. "C'mon." He said grabbing a nearby bag that contained medical supplies, "we have one more stop to make."

He instructed the newcomers to clean the facility and I numbly followed him to the lift. "Permission to drop dead, Sir?" I asked sarcastically.

"Denied." He said flatly.

He pulled a flask from somewhere and regarded me with a squint as he took a hit and offered it to me. What the hell, after all I had just witnessed, a nice stiff drink seemed in order. I tipped the container up and almost spit it out as what tasted like jet fuel flooded my mouth. "Christ!" I gasped. He smiled and reclaimed it for himself. "What the hell is that?" It felt like someone had shoved a flame thrower down my throat and ignited it.

"Not sure." He admitted. "Scotty makes it in a still hidden in an access panel down in the engine room, but that is our little secret." He insisted.

We arrived at the bridge and McCoy tossed the bag over his shoulder. We exited to a scene of chaos and destruction. The floor was littered with debris that had come loose from various parts of the ship. Uhura waved smoke away from her panel while Spock was pushing buttons on his and judging by his frown not getting the response he desired. A panel swung lazily by a few wires on the ceiling near Sulu. Chekov was leaning on his console, apparently talking to someone who was hidden behind it. "I don't think that it a good idea," he warned, "the vires could be…" Before he could finish, a bright spray of sparks illuminated the room.

"Jesus H. Christ!" Jim yelled leaping up from behind the console. He jumped up and down with a grimace as he held tightly to his right hand. He slowly opened his eyes and took notice of us. "Hey, Bones." He sounded a bit nervous and he had every right to be, his face was covered in blood and a nasty bruise was forming around his left eye. There was nowhere he could hide now.

"Mmmhmmm." McCoy grunted letting the medical bag fall to his feet with a thud.

"Spock! Did you…" The captain accused.

"I assure you, I did not summon him." Spock interrupted in a flat tone, still poking at buttons. "At this moment it would appear that I could not so much as request the door to the lavatory open on this level if I so desired."

"Dammit, I have had a very long day, Jim. Don't make it any longer or I can promise you will remain conscious long enough to regret it." McCoy sighed.

"Yeah, I have no doubts about that," Jim admitted in a quiet voice, "but seriously, I have bigger problems right now."

"Like what?!" McCoy asked exasperated.

Jim swallowed hard and his eyes grew dark. "Like finding out how many people we actually got."

"What does that mean?" I asked softly. I would hate to think that we went through all that for nothing. All of the people who were hurt and who had died…please don't tell me it was all for nothing.

"When it became clear to the Romulans that we were going to be successful against their Birds of Prey, they decided to destroy the ship containing the captives rather than return in disgrace." Spock said standing at attention. "Mr. Scott attempted to beam them out before the Romulans fired, but the interfering fields of the lasers and the transporter beam scrambled the signal. Mr. Scott is currently attempting to trace it, although we have sustained heavy damage and he has few resources to work with."

I looked down at my uniform, now stiff and smelling of dried blood. Although it was Captain Kirk's decision to save them, he would never have been in that position were it not for me. Suddenly I felt the crushing guilt of the injured and dead fall on me like a ton of bricks. Try as I might to help them, I was the ultimate cause of their pain and suffering.


	23. Chapter 23 Lost and Found

**Chapter 23- Lost and Found**

"Goddamn it!" McCoy muttered as he once again picked up the bag and threw it over his shoulder. He wanted nothing more than to complete his exams so he could fall face down into bed and die himself, but even he knew that the current situation trumped his by a long shot. It looked like he was going to be on the hook awhile longer.

"Spock, you come with me. Sulu, you have the com. Try not to let the bridge catch on fire while I am gone." Jim directed still shaking his hand to regain feeling.

"Aye, Captain." Sulu replied, but looked around as though he wondered how much worse it could all get anyway.

I stood silently in the back of the lift next to McCoy who looked like he had fallen asleep with his eyes open. In front of us, Jim asked Spock, "Did anyone manage to contact Starfleet?"

"Yes." Spock replied. "The Admiral was displeased with your sudden change of course. He believed that the non-authorized mission would unnecessarily endanger our Romulan guest. I believe he said something about having your hide upon arrival."

"Heh!" Jim chuckled rubbing his hands. "Looks like the ship will get more refits than we had planned on. We might be on leave for two weeks instead of one."

"You may be in the brig for two weeks." Spock said with the smallest of smiles.

Jim's tone became more serious. "Well, that depends on Scotty."

We exited to the transporter room where Scotty was laying on his back rewiring the console. "Bugger!" he yelled along with a string of syllables that had no particular meaning. His legs jerked and kicked as though he were being eaten alive by the machine.

"Scotty!" Jim yelled ducking his head to better see his chief engineer. "What'cha doin'?"

There was a moment of embarrassed laughter before he answered, "Just fixin' up the insides a wee bit to boost the signal is all."

Jim nodded his head and smiled. "You are reconfiguring the wires in ways they were never meant to be, aren't you?" When Scotty nodded, Jim added, "That's my man. Keep up the good work until we have 7 people on that pad."

Scotty continued to work furiously, swearing intermittently between sparks and the smell of melting plastic. I leaned close to McCoy and asked, "How exactly does the transporter thing work, anyway?"

"Damned if I know." He mumbled. "I'm a doctor, not a physicist. But from what I have been told, the computer scans and stores your molecular makeup and sends the information to the location you want to be and your molecules are reconfigured. It all sounds like hooha to me, that's why I won't use the damn thing unless I absolutely have to. I like staying in one whole, continuous piece, thank you very much."

"How long do they have to reconfigure them before it is too late?" I asked apprehensively.

He shrugged and vaguely said, "Not sure, awhile I guess. But I do know that after some time the information trace is lost and when that happens, the person is forever scattered…out there…somewhere." He waved his fingers in a fluttering motion towards no place in particular.

"Do these things happen often?" I inquired feeling a little ill.

He scoffed. "More than you would hope it does. Sometimes you end up with mismatched or missing parts, and other times you get nothing at all. It's all voodoo I tell you."

Jim turned to him and shook his head in disbelief. "For a man of science, Bones, you sure are superstitious."

"Mon! Ah got it, Captain!" Scotty yelled as he jumped to his feet. "Now, let's have a proper go!" He bent over the console and manically pushed buttons before his face fell and he slammed his dirty fist down on the unit. "Bugger! Commander! The codes is all gone to Hell in a wire basket!"

Spock seemed unmoved by Scotty's sense of urgency. Instead he slowly and calmly placed himself in front of the wildly blinking screen and began typing. His long fingers moved quickly over the input board as reams of newly entered commands filled the screen line by line. Jim looked to me wholly impressed as he gestured and said, "A7 computer certification." I gave a weak smile and he explained. "It's like being a black belt in computer programming. Pretty kick-ass, really."

_If he could somehow debug Windows into a semi-usable state, then I would be impressed._

"There you are, ," Spock announced stepping away from the console, "you may have better success with a new program." He stood at attention and made no indication that he heard a word Jim said.

"Ah, come on, then." He muttered as he again worked the controls with intense concentration. "Captain!" he shouted wildly, "I got something! Hoots, we did it!"

We all looked excitedly at the pad and watched as the slow swirl of light intensified and faded to reveal human figures lying on the floor. We all cheered until Jim held up his hand to signal for quiet. "Scotty, there are only 5. Where are the others?" He asked hurriedly.

Scotty's face became morose as he replied, "I'm sorry, Captain. That's all I got." Jim nodded slowly and bit his bottom lip, but patted his engineer on the back anyway. "You did good, Scotty."

McCoy, Jim and I rushed the pad to check on the new arrivals. We spoke to them and lightly patted their faces until they woke up. What a sight we must have been! Jim bloodied and bruised, McCoy and I soaked through with blood.

I was at the side of a young man who looked to be in his 20's. His glasses sat slightly askew on his face that was caked with dirt and sweat. His short, dark hair was ruffled and sticking out in all directions, but not entirely out of style. His clothing was filthy and torn in places. Finally, his blue eyes slowly opened and looked to me through the thick haze of confusion before they became sharper and more focused.

I smiled at him and said, "Welcome to the Enterprise."


	24. Chapter 24 It's About Time!

**Chapter 24- It's About Time!**

Just as the young man sat up, a startled voice called, "Dr. Collins? Oh my God, is that you?" I looked around the young man to the woman McCoy knelt with. As soon as I saw her pale face with mousy features, I knew exactly who she was…well sort of. I must have walked past her hundreds of times during the few years I worked at the hospital. She always sat timidly behind a large reception desk, her painfully thin frame eclipsed by most of the office equipment that surrounded her. She was very quiet; in fact, I don't think I had ever heard her voice before. I smiled while inside I panicked as I realized what an elitist ass I had been. Never once did I stop to ask her name or even wave at her on my way to my office.

_You are such a self-important jackass._

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jim mouth something to McCoy who gave him an annoyed look that clearly said 'how the Hell should I know?!'

"It's me, Debbie! I work at the reception desk…" Her small voice faded as her hopes of me recognizing her died.

"Of course!" I said cheerily acting as though I knew it all along. What did she call me? I was so shocked and tied up trying to remember who she was that I missed it. "Small world, isn't it?" As soon as the words left my mouth I realized how stupendously inaccurate it was given the context of the situation.

"Ok," McCoy said helping her to her feet, "everybody grab somebody and let's get them to the sick bay." I helped the young man stand as Jim did the young red haired woman he had been tending to. Scotty took one look at Spock and all but vaulted the console to claim the last woman on the pad. Spock quietly sighed and extended his hand to a man that looked vaguely similar to the one that was leaning heavily on my shoulders. The man scrambled backwards and clumsily got up on his feet, the fear was evident on his face.

"No," I interjected as it dawned on me. "he is a good guy. I know he kind of looks like the people that had you, but he isn't one of them. I promise." Spock lowered his hand and instead gestured toward the lift. I smiled as I wondered if he ever got used to that reaction.

McCoy told Jim and I to go first while he and the rest would wait on the next lift since our people were slightly worse off and there was no way we could all fit. Jim and I helped our people into the lift and he cleared his throat. "Deck 5." He commanded with a little more authority than usual. The young woman looked at him in wonder when the lift took off, no doubt fascinated the way I was the first time I saw Spock do it like a magic trick. He smiled and casually said, "I am the Captain. This is my ship." I rolled my eyes at him which only made him smile wider. He may have blushed, but it was hard to tell under the dried blood.

We arrived at the sick bay, which had miraculously been mostly restored to its pre-destruction condition and blue uniforms hurried to help the new arrivals to beds. Jim was just about to gracefully duck out when he turned to see McCoy blocking the door, making room only for the last batch to squeeze past him single file. Spock herded his nervous human through the door with nothing more than a glance and took his place next to McCoy to fully obstruct his only means of escape.

"Going somewhere, Jim?" McCoy asked glaring at him.

"Uh, yeah." He glanced back nervously at the redhead who was watching the exchange. "I have to get back up to the bridge. Sulu is probably ready for some relief, he is only a Lieutenant. You know, a lot of responsibility filling in for a Captain."

McCoy stretched his arm out and leaned over just enough to hit a button on the wall. "Medical to bridge. Sulu, how are you managing up there? Is the place a raging inferno yet?" His voice was flat and his eyes never wavered from Jim.

The sound of Sulu's laughter floated down from a speaker. "Negative, Sir. We did have a small fire when the ceiling panel collapsed, but Chekov managed to contain it all by himself. He did sustain a small scratch to his finger when he pulled the pin out of the extinguisher, but he is bravely carrying on his duties despite the pain and blood loss. Uhura gave him a sucker and that seems to have helped his condition." More voices joined in on the laughter before Sulu summed, "Engineering is up here working on things now, Sir."

"Great," McCoy sighed, "tell Mr. Chekov I will be up shortly to amputate. Medical out." He resumed his pose and squinted at the Captain.

He once again looked at the woman and said, "You know what, Bones, you are right. But I would be remiss in my duties if I did not insist that my First Officer go before me. I should be last only after every one of my men have been accounted for." He looked rather pleased with his new excuse.

"You _are_ last." McCoy nearly spat as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Spock let me check him out while we were waiting. Damn it, Jim! Am I going to have to punch you in the mouth and drag you?" Spock glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and something in his expression told me either it wasn't an idle threat or it had been done before, I wasn't sure which.

His patience wouldn't hold much longer and I found myself hoping that Jim would just suck it up and take it like a man before he made things infinitely worse for himself. McCoy was like a very mean dog and Jim was poking him with a sharp stick. It was very obvious that he would be bitten, I just wasn't sure when.

Still, I was amused as I looked at the two. McCoy had an inch or two on him and when he was angry, his muscles flexed under his uniform suggesting he shouldn't be underestimated. However, Jim was a scapper of mythic proportion who would swing away until he either won or he had suffered a head injury of sufficient severity to render him unconscious on the floor, or the bar, or the street outside…wherever he landed really. I secretly wondered which of the two would win in a cage match: McCoy who's medical knowledge could allow him to kill you with one well placed blow, or Jim who didn't have the sense to quit until he was dead? I looked at Scotty who was looking from one to the other with an ever widening grin as though he were wondering the same.

"Boys." I said calmly positioning myself between them and placing a hand on their chests. I could feel their hearts pounding and I could almost smell the testosterone that flooded the gap between them. I turned to Jim and said, "You obviously need medical attention. You know that he is only doing his job, you can't blame him for that. I know that you wouldn't have your CMO any other way." I then turned to McCoy. "And you just received an influx of patients who need attention perhaps a little more than the Captain. In the end he is just as responsible for them as you. It has been a very long day for everyone here and we are all a little tired. So why don't we do this: Dr. McCoy can do a quick check while Jim and I wait in his office until he can examine you and then we can all call it a day. Sound reasonable?" Both men reluctantly agreed but continued to stare at each other.

Jim and I went to McCoy's office with Spock in tow. Jim plopped down in his chair and put his feet up on the desk. "An impressive intervention, Dr. Collins." Spock commended. I looked at him quizzically. "I believe that is how the female addressed you." He added.

"I could have figured something out." Jim sulked.

"Her solution was the only logical outcome possible to the trench in which the two of you had dug. Neither of you could have won or lost without losing face in front of the many spectators you chose to involve." Spock reasoned. "I will not understand the tendency toward violence as a solution in your species."

Jim's eyes lit up and he laughed. "Please! I have been on the receiving end of your aggression. Don't act like you don't get it."

It was my turn to look at him in surprise. "Real raw anger? Seriously?! I bet that was something to see!"

"Yeah, not so much." Jim chuckled. "At least from my perspective. It was like looking into the eyes of a god that was about to completely destroy you. That was some seriously scary shit."

I laughed and said, "So, Shakespeare was wrong. Hell hath no fury like a pissed off Vulcan."

Spock hung his head and quietly replied, "An unfortunate but necessary action on my part." It was heartbreaking because without outwardly indicating it, he seemed truly contrite and remorseful.

"Aw, Come on, Spock." Jim said in a softer tone. "You know I am just giving you shit."

"I will also not understand why human expressions appear to center around fecal matter." He said with the almost invisible little grin.

Jim and I both laughed, he had a point and neither of us could come up with a good explanation. McCoy entered the room and glared at Jim's casual invasion of his private space. He immediately took his feet down and asked, "So what's the word, Bones?"

"Minor nicks and scrapes. One of them had an old rib fracture that was mending." He sat on the corner of his desk with a weary sigh. "Mostly just dehydrated and malnourished. They should be fine in a few days."

Jim nodded and began to say, "Bones, about out there…."

McCoy pulled a scanner out of his bag and ran it over Jim's head. "The only thing I want right now, Jim, is to get this over so I can stumble to my room and lapse into a deep coma. I don't even plan on taking my uniform off."

"Minor head injury," he declared after reading the device, "but nothing new to you." He then took Jim's head in his hands and examined his scalp for the source of the blood. "And one small cut to the epidermis. Not unusual that it would bleed like a stuck pig."

"Do you need to close it?" Jim asked apprehensively.

"Nah," McCoy said repacking the travel bag, "just don't scrub too hard when you shower." The fatigue in his voice was evident as the light at the end of the tunnel finally appeared to him. He got up and stretched with a wide yawn. "Wake me up when we get to Earth." He instructed.

"That won't be for a day and a half." Jim called.

"Whatever." McCoy yawned as he walked out the door.

"You should rest as well, Captain." Spock stated. "I will stay on the bridge and monitor the repairs for my assigned shift beginning in two hours."

"I can't let you do that, Spock. Christ, you have probably been up longer than any of us." Jim protested catching McCoy's urge to yawn.

"Must I remind you, Captain, that I do not require as much rest. It is the only logical course of action." He used his 'don't argue because you won't win' tone, but despite his assertion, he looked every bit as tired as we did.

"Fine." Jim agreed getting up to leave exasperated. "But only for a few hours. Then I will come and relieve you so you can go sleep." He seemed sincere, but Spock was happy to let him persist in his delusion. He and I both knew that with a head injury, when he closed his eyes his sleep would be deep and last most of the day.

"Goodnight, Spock." I yawned, feeling the remaining shreds of energy within me dissipate. He gave his little nod and I turned to go. I was almost out the door before I was hit with a sudden jolt of adrenaline. I turned on my heel and went back into the sick bay and approached Debbie. She was still awake and she smiled at me as I approached. I leaned in close so I could whisper, "Debbie, I know this seems like a strange question, but what is my whole name?"

She smiled at me and asked in her tiny voice, "Are you testing my memory?"

That was exactly what I would do if I was on Earth, so I smiled back and lied through my teeth. "Yes!"

She nodded, satisfied she had solved the riddle. "M. Thompson-Collins."

I paused and asked, "What was the 'M' for?"

She squinted and answered, "Morgan…I think. I don't know though, we never called you doctors by your first names. Big no-no."

I smiled at her and nodded. While that asinine rule was certainly not of my making, it was the order of the day just to remind everyone that we doctors were on a totally different plane than everyone else.

On the way to the lift I mulled it over. While it didn't feel as sure as it should have, it didn't feel awkward either. I decided in the end to just go with it. Hell, I was far too tired to care. For the next few hours you could call me dead.


	25. Chapter 25 The Last Hurrah

**A/N: Well folks, this is the last stop this train makes. Everyone wave goodbye to our friends on the Enterprise. I wrote most of this chapter listening to "Times Like These" by Foo Fighters, so I couldn't be too sad. Seriously, thanks to everyone that reviewed and added this story to favorites. Special thanks to OceanFae and bringmetheangie for your constant support and humor through this draining process. You all have been merciful and patient to make it this far. I hope I made most of you happy by finally giving the Doc a name and spelling 'captain' correctly for the last few chapters…lol. Cheers and thanks again! **

**Chapter 25- The Last Hurrah**

Not even corpses rested as well as I did. I quickly peeled off my soiled uniform and showered when I returned to my quarters. I could barely stand long enough for the hot water to rinse away the blood that had stained my skin. I watched it all swirl pink down the drain until the water ran clear. Then I ran a towel over my flesh just long enough for it to count before falling into bed. When I regained consciousness, it was some 17 hours after I had left the sick bay.

I turned to face the ceiling and it began to sink in that in less than a day's time, I would be back on Earth. Would I even be able to recognize it as my former home? How much had changed in the last 250 years? I sat up and looked out at the blackness illuminated by pinpricks of light. Before, those lights seemed abstract and were only thought of as random balls of burning gas that had no real purpose. Now I knew that at least some of them were circled by planets that contained other life forms beyond a doubt. What before seemed so isolating when I first arrived now seemed a vast expanse of opportunity. I soaked it in, not knowing if it was to be the last time I would ever be in space. The truth was, I suspected I would be left behind on Earth. Why would Jim keep me onboard when I wasn't part of his crew? As Spock would say, it was only logical.

I was filled with overwhelming sadness. In the short time that I had been on the Enterprise, I had come to respect the crew for their loyal dedication and consummate professionalism. But more than that, I considered them my friends. I had nothing on Earth, I knew no one. Even people who carried segments of my DNA as family members would likely not know anything about me. People's memories just did not run that long. What would I say to them anyway? Even in an age where the existence of other species of beings were common knowledge, how well would an explanation of an accidental temporal rift go over? While alien abduction may have seemed rational to them, time travel probably wouldn't.

As confused as I was, I was sure that the other humans in the sick bay were really scratching their heads. I didn't know what their experience or extent of knowledge about their circumstances were, but I was never going to find out laying in bed and feeling sorry for myself. I recycled my uniform and made a new one using the replicator before heading down to deck 5.

I was surprised to see many of them awake. But then again, I remembered how I lost my sense of time too. I sat in the middle of the room and got to know them. In listening to their stories, two things became clear: we were all taken from the hospital and being transported was a very odd and distasteful feeling. The two men resembled each other because they were brothers who had come to visit their mother. The redhead Jim was flirting with worked in the mail room and had been delivering packages to Debbie. The third woman was an office administrator who had brought paperwork for one of my colleagues to sign. It would seem Saren was busy. I assumed the others who did not make it were from the hospital as well, but I didn't ask.

They peppered me with questions and I answered them to the best of my ability. I told them about each of the crew members and how Spock was an alien, but a good one despite his mannerisms that sometimes unwittingly unnerved humans. I told them what I knew about the Romulans and relayed my experience with the Klingons. I told them we were going back to Earth and would arrive soon, but not to expect it as they had left it. The time differential proved to be just as difficult for them to handle as it was for me. At least they had each other, I thought I was alone until the day before. It seemed that they knew of their destiny on Romulus and were largely held grouped together in a cage. Occasionally they were blasted with water, but only once did they witness overt violence when the younger brother had almost successfully picked the lock to the cage and he was viciously beaten for his efforts.

I laughed when almost all expressed trepidation regarding McCoy. "Just do what he tells you and you will be fine." I advised. "And whatever you do, don't argue with him. He can be a little vindictive at times. Believe me, you do not want to feel his wrath."

I spent the entire day on deck 5. McCoy eventually showed up around 2:00pm looking somewhat better. He made the rounds and seemed sufficiently satisfied with the progress of his charges judging by his unintelligible grunts. At 4:30pm, Spock came down to consult with McCoy regarding the fitness of the former captives. Between them they decided to transfer them to a Starfleet medical facility for further observation upon arrival, which Spock informed us would be within two hours. My heart sank, but I kept a brave face. At 6:45pm we disembarked into the glittering mass of lights that I was told was San Francisco. It felt strange to have my feet on solid ground again, I seemed slightly weighed down and movements appeared to require more effort.

I stood alone by a small reflection pool and watched a steady stream of red, yellow, and blue uniforms steam off the ship and pack into shuttles that would ferry them to the city proper. They all seemed so jubilant and who could blame them? The last three weeks had been intense and they were lucky to be alive. They deserved the time off and I wondered where they would all go. Some probably had family or friends to see. Some might go out on a long bender at local bars. A few might even travel to far flung places to relax. At any rate, all of them probably had ways and means, which I did not. I had never felt so alone.

"A little shallow for a swim." Jim said walking up behind me with Spock a few steps behind.

I looked up in time to see Scotty run down the deck and tackle Sulu, the two of them laughing like maniacs while they rolled on the ground. Uhura and Chekov chased them and pummeled them with their soft sided standard issue bags. Spock also took in the spectacle but obviously didn't find it nearly as amusing as they did. Jim traced his First Officer's line of vision and scolded, "Aw, let them go, Spock. They are off duty. They have earned it for Christ sake." He looked to Jim and then settled on me with no amount of pleasure.

"Well," Jim said to me, "what did you think? Pretty exciting stuff, 'eh?" He crossed his arms and smirked. "Ready to join Starfleet and be part of the crew?"

It was all I could do not to punch him or run away crying. Was he purposely trying to be a heartless ass or did it come naturally? "Yeah, good times." I choked out. "Now if you can just tell me where I am supposed to go from here…"

His eyes faltered and his voice took on the same tone it did when I first met him. "Right," he sighed, "you know that we can't send you or the others back." I didn't understand what he meant at all. "I mean, Starfleet is looking into temporal mechanics, but it is in the early stages and far too dangerous to attempt. I think it is something we will eventually have, but probably not for awhile."

I laughed and it caught him by surprise. "Back? Jim there is no going back for me! How can I be expected to just forget everything I have seen and done? How can I regress to a time when we thought we were utterly alone in the universe? How can I look up at the sky and live with the knowledge that we are absolutely not? It was painful at first, but growth often hurts. I don't regret what happened. I would have never met you or your crew and I would never have seen individuals like Spock, the Klingons, or even the damn Romulans! There is no way but forward from here. It is like a virtual Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy out there and I consider myself lucky to have seen it, no matter how it happened." I said gesturing to the night sky.

"I was unaware the humans had a manual on galactic travel." Spock deadpanned.

Jim laughed and told him, "It wasn't a real guide, Spock. It was a book, a fictional story written by a drunk Englishman."

"It was perhaps the finest work in English literature of the entire 20th century." I defended with mock indignity, "At the very least an entertaining cult classic."

"Ok," Jim chuckled, "so I get it, you wouldn't go back if you could. What would you say if I offered you your old job on the next mission?"

Spock turned sharply toward him as though he had committed heresy. "Captain, doing so would cause the Admiral to become even more displeased with you. Her assignment was to be temporary."

"Do you think she is ill suited for the job?" Jim asked.

"On the contrary. I received nothing but exemplary commendation from Dr. McCoy during her tenure, but you are aware of the regulations prohibiting a civilian from taking a commissioned post." Spock protested in his neutral tone.

"Yeah, but I have a plan." He said as his blue eyes twinkled. I had been around him long enough to know that this probably wasn't going to be entirely on the up and up.

"As you wish, Captain" Spock sighed. He knew it too. "Dr. Collins," he said reaching in his bag and pulling out the Rubik's cube. "I have solved your puzzle. It was a most interesting challenge."

"Ha!" Jim exclaimed. "It didn't seem so fun when you spent days pacing your station and swearing in Vulcan!"

"I assure you, I was not cursing." Spock refuted.

"Whatever," Jim dismissed, "you weren't exactly singing either. Whatever you were or were not doing, it certainly was not in English."

While they were arguing, I took the opportunity to scramble the cube and hand it back to Spock. "It is a gift that keeps giving." I said with a smile.

He stared at it with an intensity that reeked of hatred or perhaps dread. He placed it back in his bag and quietly said, "I will wait by the shuttles."

After he turned to go Jim emphatically said, "He was swearing. No one does math with that kind of tone." He turned to see Spock waving him off dismissively. "His hearing is pretty good." He explained. "So, what do you say? Ready for your next mission?"

"How are you going to make this legit?" I asked suspiciously.

He scratched the back of his neck and admitted, "I don't know. Maybe I can marry you off to Chekov or something. Then you would have a legit reason to be onboard." He smiled wickedly.

"Wait," I said laughing, "isn't Chekov 17 or something? Wouldn't that be statutory rape? If that is your grand plan, no thanks!"

He laughed with me and replied, "Alright, Bones then. Pick your poison. Let me figure out how I will get it past Starfleet. If you want to join us, I would love to have you. If nothing else you keep Bones somewhat reasonable and that alone is worthwhile."

I looked up at the night sky just as I did when I was a girl. "I think it is where I always wanted to be." I admitted.

**The End!!**


End file.
